My husband’s intention was to have two children, a male, and a female. This intention or dream was not communicated to me. It didn’t come up during dating and it didn’t come up before the wedding and it never came up until the harm had already been done. I didn’t have a dream of the number of kids to have. I knew I wanted children and I was ready for how many God will throw my way. Two years after marriage we had our first kid—a boy. When the boy was two years, we had another child which was also a boy.

My husband said, “I thought this one would be a girl. I asked, “Do you want a girl?” He said, “Yeah, we have a boy already. A girl would have brought some difference in our lives.”

“Some difference.” That’s all he said. He never said he wanted a girl so he would stop giving birth. We went ahead and had our third—a girl. I remember how happy the news made him. My first two children didn’t have a naming ceremony. We just gave them names he had chosen for them but when the girl arrived, he organized a naming ceremony to outdoor her and give her a name. He named her Lucy—a name I wasn’t privy to until the day he himself announced it.

He didn’t tell me anything about not having any more kids. One day I woke up feeling uneasy. It’s a feeling I knew too well. When I got pregnant the first time I had that feeling. The second pregnancy, the feeling got worse. That same feeling came back when I got pregnant the third time. So that morning when I had that feeling, I told myself, “Another child is knocking I know. I went to check and lo and behold, I was pregnant.

I was happy about it. I don’t know what’s in pregnancy that always gets me excited. I can get pregnant a thousand times and each one will make me happy just like the first one did. So, I told him, “We are going to have our fourth.” He asked, “Fourth what?” I said, “Fourth child of course.” He got out of bed suddenly as though I’d given him some bad news. He said. “Are you serious?” I said, “How can I joke with something like that?”

He said, “I thought I told you we are done having kids?” I said, “When did you tell me that? I don’t remember having such a conversation with you.” He said, “When the second one came, I told you we needed a girl to seal it, remember.” I said, “That’s not what you said. You said something about a girl making a difference in our lives. You never mentioned anything about a girl being the last. He said, “It’s good you’ve told me this early. We can’t have it. Do something about it.”

“Do something about it? Something like what?”
“I’m not the one to tell you what to do. You’re old enough to know what to do about it.”
“I’m old enough to know that when a woman gets pregnant, she prepares to have the baby. That’s all I know and nothing else.”
“Stop behaving like a spoilt kid. I’ve said it. We are not going to have another child. Not today and not tomorrow.”

We had this argument for days. It always ended the same way. He insisted I should do something about it. I insisted I wasn’t going to do anything about it apart from waiting for nine months and deliver. He gave me money to go to the hospital. I ‘chopped’ the money. I told him the next day that he wouldn’t get what he was asking for.

This brought a lot of bad blood between us. We were fighting every day. Any little thing got him agitated. He shouted at me over little things. He stopped providing for the house and instead kept fighting me. Nine months later, I delivered a girl. The prettiest of them all. My mother once said, “The more you give birth to them, the prettier they become.” My fourth child confirmed what my mother always said.

I realized my husband wasn’t enthused about the last child. I wouldn’t call it hatred. He was just embarrassed to have thought evil about an innocent child. He couldn’t look at her. The guilt was written all over his face. His attitude towards her was lukewarm but it didn’t bother me. All I said was, “It’s just a matter of time.”

Three years later, I got pregnant again. That feeling came one morning and I said, “Matter don come.” I didn’t want to check to confirm it because I didn’t know how to tell him about it. One day, while eating with him, I said, “I’ve started having this feeling again. It looks like our fifth is coming.” He jumped out of his seat as if he had been electrocuted. He said, “No, no we can’t have another. Aren’t you a woman? Don’t you know what to do to prevent that?” I said, “Do what?”

“I told you we were done. You should have done something about it.”
“What about you doing something about it? You said we were done, what did you do to prevent it from happening?”

We went on and on, having the same conversation again. He was resolute. He was determined not to let me have my way. He asked, “How many months?” I said, “I don’t know.” He said, “We are going to the hospital tomorrow morning, get ready.” I said, “I can’t skip work tomorrow.” He said, “You’ll skip.”

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I looked into his eyes and there was this horror I hadn’t seen since we met. He looked like nothing will make him cede to me this time. I begged him. I told him this would be the last. He said, “No, the last kid was the last time. No more last time.”

The next morning, he made some calls. He said, “Dress up and let’s go.” I went in there with him. He was made to wait outside.  A few minutes later, they were done with me. I was no longer pregnant. I came home and I cried. I was having pains—physical and emotional pain. He looked cool and unconcerned as though nothing had happened. I looked at him going around the house with this mischievous smile on his lips. Suddenly there was a surge of anger in my heart. I wanted to hit him with something or do something to hurt.

For several months now that anger has not left my heart. I look at him and he looks like something you can easily hate. I wish I could hurt him. I wish I could look into his eyes and tell him that I hate him with all I have. I haven’t been able to do that so for a long time, I walk around the house with anger welled in my heart.

It looks like I’m the one suffering. I want to be free from this anger yet I don’t want to forgive him for what he did. I’ve pondered divorce but I don’t think that can quell the anger within me and make me happy again. I miss being happy. I miss being myself and I’m constantly looking for a way out of this feeling but nothing helps. Please, is there an easy way to get out of this feeling? I’m ready to do everything except forgiving him because I can’t forgive him for putting us through that pain.

–Obaa 

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