Resentful Dad Fears He Hates His Baby After His Wife Died During Childbirth

by San Eli News

When his young wife died in childbirth, the 22-year-old father was plunged into unknowable grief. During his short life up to that point, he had hardly known hardship and was ill-equipped to deal with the sudden death of his life partner. How many of us are ever equipped for such a tragedy? But then he started feeling resentment toward the child that survived the birth, killing his wife in the process – and dad turned to the internet for help.

“My wife (22F) and me (22M) got married when we were 19. It was honestly one of the happiest days in my life, and our marriage was wonderful, I loved her more than anything. In our second year of college, she ended up getting pregnant. As a side note, her parents and my parents are horrendous, abusive, and overbearing. We struggled to cut off contact (I went full after my wife passed away), and when she got pregnant, her parents threatened to cut off all financial support if she aborted.

“As such, my wife didn’t really have the heart to abort either, so she decided to keep it. The pregnancy was horrible for her. She was constantly nauseous and sick. Last year, day of labor came, of course, I’m beside her even though it’s a baby I never wanted. I’d rather not get into detail, but the worst happened, and I went home alone with a baby.

“I was all by myself. I had a kid, no support from family (I do have two little brothers, but they’re eight and eleven), no support from my in-laws (as far as I’m concerned, they killed my wife), and all my friends being poor 20somethings working minimum wage jobs. I originally planned to go to med school, and that’s where most of my friends are now.

“The first year was absolute hell. I had no idea how to raise a child. I worked two jobs, and my son has bounced around with my friends, who rotated looking after him while I was working. I worked at 12 am-8 am overnight, where I’d leave him with my best friend. Thankfully he was not a fussy baby and slept through most of the night. At eight o’clock, coming home from work, I’d swing by and pick him up and then spend time with him, probably end up falling asleep in chunks with him waking me up screaming, then I’d be off to work again at 3 pm-9 pm where I worked part-time at a drugstore. I’d call up whichever friend was available and struggle to find someone to keep him. Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to, and I’d have to call sick for work. Typically I’d sleep through both my lunch breaks for either job.

“Anyway, that’s where I am today. I’m 22 with a son who turned one today. I couldn’t find anyone to watch him, so I called in. He’s sleeping next to me in his cradle and looking at his squishy little face, I just… I hate him. I hate this stupid f***ing kid. Well, not entirely. When he snuggles next to me the few hours I have off, I get a rush of affection for him. But most of the time, I hate him.

“Right now, it’s his first birthday. I should be throwing him some big birthday party with cake and family and balloons and him being the center of attention. But I can’t. It’s about three o’clock right now where I am, and I’ve been crying on and off since I got up this morning. This isn’t his birthday. This is the day my wife died. If she had been here right now, then I wouldn’t be all by myself with a one-year-old. Who I literally hate more than anything in the world.

“I’m really just ranting now. I just wish I could go back to before he was born, when I was a bright-eyed kid who was going to go to med school and live a successful life as a doctor, with a beautiful wife and tons of friends. Do you know what’s going on now with my friends? They’re starting to get sick of me. I’m just “the one with the kid” who’s always pawning him off to all of them. They hang out without me, not that I could even come if they asked. And I bet they’re sick of it too. For a year, they’ve been practically half raising my kid.

“But this won’t work forever. I can’t rely on them forever. They’re already getting sick of him. I’m sick of him. And I’ve got seventeen more years before I’m free.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what this post was about. I guess I’m just asking… how do I get past this? How do I handle this? How do I do this?”