Next morning, I eat some cereal and toast, and it’s the same deal. I’m in the bathroom, throwing up. While I’m brushing my teeth, I see my birth control pills lying on the counter. I took one before breakfast.
Crap, I probably just threw it up.
Then, I look closer at the pills, and two things come to mind.
One, I should have gotten my period a few days ago.
And two, WTF?
Where the heck is my period?
But I try not to freak.
I know Lori would chew my ass if she heard me thinking this because, yes, I know there are a lot of people who want to get pregnant but can’t. I know they try everything, and here I am, complaining because I am not thrilled with this combination of lateness and puking.
And, of course, this is the exact moment that Phillip chooses to walk into the bathroom to check on me.
“Are you okay? I thought I heard you throwing up again.”
“Yeah, I’m not feeling so great.”
He studies the pill package in my hand and stands frozen for a good thirty seconds.
I’m telling you, I can see the wheels turning in his brain.
And I don’t think I will like the question that he’s going to ask next.
“Oh my God, are you late? And you’re puking?”
“Just a couple of days late, and that’s not unusual.”
Actually, it is unusual. But come on! I’m stressed. I’ve just gone through some major life changes. Planned a wedding. Designed a building. Packed. Got married. Traveled. It’s happy stress, but it’s still stress. So, it’s natural that my body would freak out like my mind did. I mean, they do work in tandem most of the time.
Phillip gets a big grin on his face and pulls me into his arms. “It would be so awesome if you were pregnant. Do you think you could be?”
“Phillip, no! It would not be. We’re not ready. We just got back from our honeymoon. What would your parents think?”
He laughs. “My parents got married in August, and Ashley was born in February. Do the math.”
So, I do.
I count it out on my fingers. “September, October, November, December, January, February—Phillip, that’s only six months!”
He laughs.
“Your mom was pregnant when they got married?”
“Ya think?”
“Did she trap your dad into marrying her?”
“I don’t think so. They dated for over two years before they got married.”
I get hit with another wave of nausea.
And I can’t decide what’s making me feel sicker—the thought of being pregnant, the flu, or an actual pregnancy.
It’s got to be the flu.
Please, please, let it be the flu.
And, um, excuse me, while I go puke again.
Phillip is a sweetie, of course, and tells me I should lie back down and try to sleep.
But HA! You really think I’m going to be able to sleep? Now? At a time like this?
My body might be shaking and tired, but my mind is on freaking overdrive.
So, let’s be rational and think this through.
I’m on the pill.
I take it every day.
I never miss a day.
I take it at the same exact time every single day just to be extra cautious.
But then I remember that I was on antibiotics for a sinus infection, and I very specifically told that boy we should use a condom.
What did he do?
He laughed at me and proceeded anyway.
And I stupidly didn’t stop him.
I have that thing my parents used to say young people have. That stupid thing in the back of their mind that says, It could never happen to me. It’s just this one time.
But, uh, well, it wasn’t exactly just once, was it?
All month, we were not careful like we should’ve been.
Why did I listen to him?
Where was my willpower?
I’m really, really not ready for a baby.
Sure, I want to have kids.
I really do, but they are still a someday in my mind.
Not the far-off someday that they used to be, but in the foreseeable future someday.
I can’t wait to have kids with Phillip, but I want it to be the right time. We need to be married for a little while. I have so much on my plate. Phillip’s temporary office space is complete, but construction on the new building will start soon. And we need to get settled in our new house and our new city.
Truth be told, if I couldn’t drink, I might not be able to get through it all.
And no.
No need to give me the whole alcoholic speech. It’s not like that.
But I admit, there have been days recently where the only thing that has gotten me through is the thought of being able to come home and soak in a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine and some chocolate.
I seriously cannot be pregnant right now.
Please, God, please, don’t let me be pregnant. And please don’t hold it against me, like, in a few years from now when I want it to happen.
Apparently, I exhaust my brain with all this thinking, so it shuts up and goes to sleep.
I wake up, feeling chilled and feverish.
Not good.
I shuffle into the kitchen and find Phillip unloading a grocery store’s worth of bags. Lori is neatly organizing his purchases in my pantry. She waves at me over the bags piled on the island.
“Jade, how are you feeling?” she asks with a singsong, happy-bird-in-the-park quality to her voice as she scurries around, getting me crackers and 7Up and placing them in front of me with a flourish.
I sit at the bar with my blankie still wrapped around me and bite into a cracker. I’m delighted to discover that it tastes wonderfully salty and good.
“So, how is it?” she asks, pointing to my snack.
“It tastes good, thanks.”
“Normal people don’t really like saltines; only pregnant women do.”
Oh, great. She now seems to think I just passed some litmus test for pregnant women.
“I lived on them during my first few months.” Now, she’s acting like we’re in some secret saltines club together.
And it hits me. Her ultra-cheerful voice. Her being so nice.
“Phillip! You told her?”
He grins and holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. She wanted to know what was wrong with you, and I’m just so excited about what it could be that I let it slip that you’re a few days late.”
“I am not pregnant!”
And I am willing both them and the fertility gods to believe me.
Or, wait, would it be the non-fertility gods?
Is there such a thing?
“Please stop this ridiculousness. You’re upsetting me.”
“See, Phillip? I told you. Mood swings,” Lori says, acting like she is some kind of pregnancy expert.
“This is not a mood swing,” I counter. “This is an I have the flu, feel like crap, and you keep going on with all this you’re pregnant bullshit mood.”
“Rubber band,” she tells me.
I take the rubber band off my wrist and fling it at her. “Fuck that.”
Yes, I know.
She’s my friend, and she’s being very helpful and organizing my pantry, but I don’t feel good!
I can’t handle this harassment.
She gives me a glare. I pathetically look at her. She huffs and goes back to organizing my pantry.
This is why we’re friends. We both know when to back down.
Phillip takes pity on me. He picks me up, carries me over to the couch, and snuggles up with me.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I just had to tell someone. I felt like I could burst.”
“Please tell me you haven’t told anyone else.”
“Um, I, uh …”
“Phillip!”
“So, my mom called this morning and asked how the move was going, and I told her you were sick yesterday and then again this morning. You know she has baby on the brain, and she asked if you could be pregnant. I told her no. That I thought it was just the flu. But she sorta acted like she didn’t believe me.”
“Phillip, I have a fever. I don’t think that’s a pregnancy sign.”
Lori, who apparently has been listening, butts in, “I had a slight fever and thought I was coming down with the flu when I found out.”
I shake my head at her. I’m pretty sure I could tell her that my toenails hurt and the trees outside swayed in the breeze, and she would tell me it’s a pregnancy symptom.
“Phillip, please pray that we’re not. We aren’t ready for this. We need to be a couple first. Have some fun together. Babies are hard on marriages.”
“I don’t think I can do that. I can’t lie. I would be pretty excited if you were. I can’t wait to have an adorable, spunky daughter with a cute, curly ponytail and little freckles across her nose, just like her mommy.” His finger grazes my freckles. “I’ll give her piggyback rides and teach her how to ride a bike, climb a tree, and punch any boy who tries to kiss her. I can’t wait to start a family with you.”
Okay, so I don’t want a baby right now, but the way he talks about his future daughter is really sweet. And it must be contagious because it makes me think that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.
But I am still on Team Not Pregnant.
Please, not yet.
“Just in case you want to find out for sure, he bought you a home pregnancy test,” Lori butts in again.
“I’m not taking that. I’ll get my period. I just have the flu.”
As the day goes on, my nausea subsides, but it might be because all I’ve eaten is crackers and 7Up.
I get nothing moving-related done because Phillip makes me lie on the couch and relax while he organizes our home.
That means, I’ll never be able to find anything.
