Blame it on too many after-school specials in Health class or on my natural proclivity to worry about everything, but I’ve been worrying about getting accidentally pregnant for… as long as I can remember. Before that was even, ahem, physically possible. My friends did it too – in college, one of my friends was absolutely convinced she was going to be the next feature in Seventeen Magazine: Pregnant with Triplets and I Never Even Had Sex!
About three years ago I had this revelation: if I did get accidentally pregnant by some divine simultaneous failure of multiple methods of birth control, it would no longer be disastrous. I mean, it wouldn’t have been ideal timing-wise (call me old fashioned, but I was hoping to, like, get married and stuff first), but it wouldn’t have ruined my life. I wouldn’t have to worry about droping out of school. I was with the man I wanted to marry, we both wanted to have kids eventually. It would have been… fine.
This little epiphany didn’t stop me from worrying about it, though. Instead, I moved on to worrying about accidentally harming my potential non-baby. I drink wine! And coffee! I love coffee. And what about the benadryl and ibuprofen and preservatives in cold cuts and getting toxoplasmosis from scooping the litterbox and oh my god, that's just the stuff I KNOW about. I probably do a hundred things a day that could potentially hurt my hypothetical non-baby! And I can’t have a baby. I’m not old enough to have a baby. I curse too much to have a baby. I love sleeping too much to have a baby.
But when I’m not busy worrying about having babies by accident, I’m haunted by the idea that I might not be able to have them at all. I might have permanently screwed up my body with that stupid fucking eating disorder when I was in college. Maybe I was never able to have kids. Without skidding too far into TMI territory, I have never exactly been textbook normal with the old womanly troubles. As strongly as I feel like I’m NOT READY OMG I've always known that I want to have kids some day. In the distant future when I was a grown-up adult person. And back when I was in high school I certainly would have considered a twenty-nine year old -- WHO IS ALREADY GOING GRAY BY THE WAY – to be such a grown-up person. However, I routinely leave the oven on after dinner and drop kitchen towels on the gas burner and forget to put the car in park and lock myself out of the house. So, obviously, I am not ready for kids. Yet.
Every time I get dizzy or I have a worse-than-usual food craving or I gain four pounds despite working out five times a week, what the hell is up with THAT, dual emotions start tugging at my gut. Part of me is thinking crap crap crap I CAN NOT be pregnant we don’t have enough money saved and our house is too small and I can’t do this… and another, quieter part is thinking hey, this would be kind of awesome.