I’m 39 Weeks Pregnant, and What My Husband Said at His Birthday Dinner Made Me Walk Out Holding My Daughter’s Hand
My name is Catherine, but most people call me Cathy. I’m 38 years old, and right now, I’m 39 weeks pregnant with our second baby. I’m huge. My belly is stretched so tight it feels like it might pop. Every step hurts. I haven’t slept properly in weeks. My back throbs, my legs ache, and even sitting down feels like a challenge.
We already have a four-year-old daughter named Zoey. She’s full of energy, always asking questions, with her cute little pigtails bouncing as she runs around. I love her more than anything—but this pregnancy? It’s been so much harder. Maybe it’s because I’m older now. The doctor says it’s a high-risk pregnancy.
“Cathy, you need to take it easy,” Dr. Smith told me just last week. “Rest is crucial now.”
Sure. Rest. Easy to say when you’re not chasing a toddler, running errands, and begging your husband to help around the house.
Alan, my husband, has only made it to one ultrasound appointment this entire pregnancy. Just one. While I’ve gone to every single checkup alone, handled every test, and worried by myself.
When I bring it up, he just says, “I have to work, Cath. Someone has to pay the bills.”
He even works weekends. Voluntarily. While I’m home, trying to keep up with Zoey, my feet swelling like balloons, my back on fire, and the baby kicking nonstop.
I’ve asked him over and over again to help set up the nursery.
Simple things. Move a few boxes. Hang the curtains. Set up the crib.
“I’ll get to it,” he always says. Every time.
But the nursery still looks like a storage room. Boxes everywhere. No curtains. The crib? Still leaning against the wall, untouched.
Two weeks ago, I asked, “When are you going to finish this?”
Alan sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Soon, Cath. God, you’re always nagging.”
Nagging. That’s what he calls it.
Then came last Tuesday. Alan’s 39th birthday. His sister Kelly called in the morning.
“I want to throw a little dinner for Alan at my place,” she said. “Nothing big. Just you, him, Zoey, Mom, Dad, and my boyfriend Jake.”
I thought maybe—just maybe—we could have a peaceful evening. Maybe Alan would act like a husband again. Like a dad. Like the man I married.
“That sounds lovely, Kelly. Thank you.”
Even though I was exhausted, I got ready as best I could. I squeezed into my favorite maternity dress—the one that used to make Alan smile when I was pregnant with Zoey.
This time? He didn’t even look at me.
We got to Kelly’s apartment around 6 p.m. The place smelled amazing—roast chicken, herbs, fresh bread. Candles flickered on the table. Soft jazz played from the speakers.
“Happy birthday, son!” Alan’s mom, Grace, hugged him tight. She’s been more of a mother to me than my own.
“Thanks, Mom. This looks great, Kel,” Alan said with a smile.
Dinner started off nicely. Kelly made all of Alan’s favorite dishes—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. The chocolate cake sat ready on the counter.
Zoey babbled about preschool. Grace asked how I was feeling. Jake told some hilarious story about a fire drill gone wrong at the station.
Meanwhile, I sat there, pretending I wasn’t in pain. My back was killing me. The baby pressed so low I thought I’d break in half. But I kept smiling—for Alan’s sake. It was his night, after all.
Then, right in the middle of dinner, Alan turned to me with a big grin like he’d just had the best idea ever.
“You know what, Cath?” he said. “After dinner, why don’t you take Zoey home and get her to bed? I’ll stay here with everyone and keep the party going.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back, still smiling. “Come on, babe! This is my last chance to celebrate before the baby comes. I want to drink a few beers with Jake, maybe smoke a cigar on the balcony. Stay up late, like old times.”
My fork slipped out of my hand and hit the plate with a loud clink.
“You want me to leave? And take Zoey home alone?”
“Yeah,” he said casually. “You’re tired anyway, right? You’re always talking about how tired you are. And someone needs to put Zoey to bed.”
I stared at him in disbelief. This was the man I’d loved for eight years. The man I married. The father of my children.
“Alan. I’m 39 weeks pregnant. The baby could come tonight.”
“Oh, come on, Cath. Don’t be dramatic.”
That’s when Grace—quiet, sweet Grace—set her fork down and stood up slowly. Her face was calm, but her eyes? They were sharp as knives.
“Alan,” she said, her voice like ice, “would you mind repeating what you just said to your wife?”
“I said—”
“No,” Grace interrupted, holding up a finger. “Word for word. What did you just tell Catherine to do?”
Alan glanced around the table. No one met his eyes.
“I asked her to take Zoey home so I could celebrate my birthday,” he mumbled.
“You asked your 39-weeks-pregnant wife, who could go into labor at any minute, to drive home alone with your four-year-old so you can drink beer and smoke cigars?”
When she said it like that, it sounded even worse.
“Mom, it’s not—”
“Sit. Down. Alan.”
He sat.
Grace walked behind my chair and gently placed her hands on my shoulders.
“Catherine is carrying your child,” she said. “She’s in pain. She hasn’t rested. And instead of taking care of her, you want to send her away so you can party?”
Alan mumbled, “It’s just one night.”
“One night?” Grace snapped. “What if she goes into labor while you’re drunk? She calls a cab? Drives herself to the hospital with your child in the backseat?”
She wasn’t finished.
“She’s been to every appointment alone. She’s begged you for help with the nursery. And what have you done? Worked. Ignored her. Treated this like it’s all her responsibility. Like this baby isn’t yours too.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. For the first time, someone actually saw me. Really saw what I was going through.
“You’ve forgotten what it means to be a husband,” Grace said softly. “And that breaks my heart.”
Silence filled the room. Alan looked down at his plate. His face had gone pale.
“I’m going home,” I whispered.
“I’m coming with you,” Grace said, squeezing my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
I stood up, wincing as pain shot through my hips. I turned to Zoey and held out my hand.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s go home.”
“Is Daddy coming too?” she asked.
I looked at Alan, who sat frozen in his chair.
“No, honey. Daddy wants to stay and party.”
Zoey looked sad but took my hand without a word.
I didn’t say goodbye.
The drive home was quiet. Grace hummed softly in the back, and Zoey asked, “Why was everyone so upset?”
“Sometimes grown-ups disagree,” I told her gently.
“Will you and Daddy be okay?”
I glanced at Grace in the mirror. She gave me a small, sad smile.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t know.”
Back home, Grace helped get Zoey ready for bed while I collapsed onto the couch. My body was screaming. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
“Grandma, will you read to me?” Zoey asked.
“Of course, little one,” Grace said, smiling.
While they read upstairs, I sat in the quiet living room, staring at the nursery boxes we never unpacked. I thought about the man I married and the stranger he seemed to have become.
When Grace came back downstairs, she handed me a warm cup of tea.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked.
“Since I got pregnant,” I said. “Maybe even before.”
The baby kicked hard. I gasped and rubbed my belly.
“That was a big one,” Grace said, watching me.
“They’re getting stronger. Could be any day now.”
“Are you scared?”
I thought about it. A week ago, I was terrified. But now?
“Not of the baby. I’m scared of what happens next. Of doing this alone.”
Grace reached out and held my hand. “You won’t be alone. I meant what I said. You and this baby are my priority now. No matter what my son decides.”
Another kick. My baby was running out of space. Soon, I’d be holding them in my arms.
“I keep thinking,” I whispered, “what I’ll tell this baby about tonight. That their father stayed to party.”
“You’ll tell them they were wanted. Deeply, dearly wanted. By their mother and grandmother. That’s what they’ll need to know.”
The house felt still. Quiet. Different.
Alan never came home that night.
The baby kicked again, harder this time. Ready to come into this messy, complicated world.
I placed both hands on my belly and whispered, “I don’t know what your daddy’s thinking. But I promise you this—you will never, ever doubt that you are loved.”
Big decisions are coming. About my marriage. About the kind of life I want for my children. About what I’m willing to forgive—and what I’m not.
But for now, I’m just a mother waiting for her baby. Surrounded by love. And ready to fight for the future my children deserve, even if it looks different than I imagined.
The rest? We’ll figure it out when the baby arrives.