"Just don't," I said. So he came in the condom, outside of me. I lay there next to him feeling satisfied, numb, and sleepy. The clock popped to 12:36. I pulled the condom off of him and wrapped it in a piece of tissue. "I have to go," I said. "The babysitter." He hailed a cab for me and when he kissed me, his skin smelled like shaving cream. I went to bed that night feeling triumphant. I giggled in my pillow, feeling all of those wonderful sex pains again. I didn't expect to feel anything else. I went to sleep. I woke up with a start the next morning. It was Saturday and 6:40 a.m. My daughter tugged on my arm. "Make me a waffle, mommy," she said. When I sat up and saw the beautiful little creature in her pale pink nightgown and big blue eyes (her father's eyes) staring at me in demand, a single moment of dread filled me. Was I knocked up all over again? Did the condom have a hole in it? Did he pre-come in me? When did I have my period last? Was I ovulating last night? I cooked with stiff arms. I sipped coffee and it made me ill. My daughter watched a cartoon, but it was like the volume was off. I was thinking about my ex and how in the beginning he was fine with my decision to keep our baby; we'd wondered if we should move in together. Two months and six days later, he wasn't okay with the instant-family we decided to have.
The rest of the day happened in slow-motion. Paranoia set in. I called my best friend to come babysit so that I could go grocery shopping and try to get out of my head. But as I walked into the store, the past three years flashed full-frontal in no particular order: I was in the delivery room alone while friends and family and not my daughter's father hovered in the waiting room. I was pacing in the dark hallway of our apartment with a crying infant in my arms. I was late to work because my daughter wouldn't let go of my leg at day care. I was masturbating, staring out at the moon, hoping the guy next door was watching me, that someone was with me. I made the rent, bought the food, and paid the bills with a hundred dollars to spare that month. I came to and threw a few apples into the basket, two bananas, a pint of milk, those overpriced yogurt drinks my daughter likes. Then I walked back to the pharmacy to refill the prescription for my daughter's fruit-chew vitamins. But when a woman in a white jacket asked if she could help me, I asked for Plan B, unable to meet her eyes. I know we used a condom. He pulled out with the condom on, then came. Still, I wasn't getting knocked up again. I'm never getting knocked up again. Plan B made me feel flu-ish and grumpy and like I was about to have a panic attack. Everyone assumed I was just under the weather. I welcomed the chicken soup and free babysitters, but told no one the real reason I was sick. The following week I got my period and started taking the pill. I'm still afraid that I'm that girl who can get pregnant while on birth control, even with a condom. Surely I'm the one-percent. I don't think that feeling will ever go away. n°
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