I have spent the last 12 years of my life, trying not to get pregnant. I have spent 5 months doing the reverse. Now I wonder why I wasted so much time, energy and money on contraceptives when it seems I am not bloody able to get pregnant anyways! Patience is not a virtue in my world, obviously.
There was a time when I truly with all my heart, believed, that one missed pill was going to result in me with child. My mother did her job well.
A pill missed, a condom tear or simply being that 1% chance and I became Miss Paranoia. In an undercover mission worthy of Inspector Gadget rather than 007, I head to the pharmacy across town armed with a ball cap and sunglasses to buy the dreaded pregnancy test (I may as well have had a clown nose for all the subtlety). I pick up a tube of toothpaste to go with the 5 others under my sink and then grab dandruff shampoo, just in case. Nearing the tests, I first spot the tampons. Lord let me need the tampons! I grab a box in desperate hope that I will, in fact, need them but mostly to confuse the teller who may really believe I’m buying the pregnancy test for a ‘friend’.
Eventually I psyche myself up for pregancy test section. I want to browse. I want to take my time choosing the best, most accurate test. But there are people in this store. And they are shopping. They browse and stop and pick things up and put them down again. I want to smack them all. Give me my space dammit. I am doing nothing wrong! But they keep coming. So I grab the first box I see and march defiantely up to the check out.
Of course, the teller judges me. I can feel her beedy little eyes looking at me, looking at the box. She thinks I’m too young. She thinks I’m a slut. I pay cash so she can’t learn my name. Then I run out. “I am so old enough to be a mother bitch!” I want to scream. Really, I just want to cry.
Now here I am 12 years later with no contraceptives in sight for months and months. And nothing. This baby-making business, I quickly understand, is not quite as easy as a drop of the, well, sperm, so to speak. Off the pill, in tune with my bodies cycle and even scheduled sex days have not resulted in a pregnancy.
But now I am two days late. So it is time for a trip to the pharmacy. I walk straight to the pregnancy test aisle and slowly read the backs of every test. I want the most efficient and reliable. After careful contemplation, I choose the winning box and go to the teller.
She rings it through and I notice her glance at the box, then at me. Does she sense my desperation? Does she feel sorry for me? I grab my reciept and march off.
“I am so not too old to get pregnant bitch!” I want to scream. Really, I want to cry. It is negative. Again.