Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
I shake my head, tears pouring down my cheeks.
“No, I never missed a dose.” Suddenly, a thought strikes. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping though, and I’ve been using St. John’s wort as a remedy. Do you think that could be it? Nooooo!” I wail.
Jenna fumbles for a moment, staring at her phone.
“Let me look it up,” she murmurs, tapping away. Then she raises her head, her face drained of color. “Misty, I don’t know how to tell you this, but it says on this website that St. John’s wort doesn’t mix well with chemical contraception. It says, ‘A study shows that women who took birth control pills and St. John's wort at the same time had higher rates of breakthrough bleeding and an increased breakdown of estrogen in their bodies, signs that the contraceptives might not work as well as they should.’”
Silence rings in my ears and I feel dizzy. I literally collapse against the wall, my knees unable to support my weight. I’m pregnant with Chris and Brett’s child, and all because of a supposedly innocuous herbal remedy meant to address my insomnia. The staggering unfairness was a blow, and I could hardly breathe.
But there was no relief because now, I was having a child. I had no thought of termination nor adoption because I can’t live like that. It’s fine for other women, and I support a woman’s right to self-determination. But for me, keeping and loving my child is the only option, and as a result, Sylvester was born about eight months later.
By then, I’d dropped out of school, and was residing in the big city. Life is more expensive in Minneapolis, but my waitressing tips are also more substantial. Most of all, the diner that I work at was willing to hire a pregnant lady, and keep my job for me after delivery too. The owner, Belinda Santos, has five children herself, and I think she took pity when she saw a girl in ragamuffin clothes with a desperate air. She knows what it’s like as a single mother, and was kind to a younger woman in the same shoes.
But I don’t make a lot, and Syl and I skate by on the edges of survival. It’s okay, though, because we don’t need much. As long as I have my baby, I know we’ll be fine. Still, nutritious meals are a necessity that can’t be ignored, and Sylvester just dumped his lunch all over his head. I’m going to have to rustle up more food, otherwise he’s going to be crying from an empty tummy in a few hours.
“Come on,” I say, patting his chubby face with a warm washcloth to clean him up. “We’ll get you into your stroller, and then go for a walk to the grocery store. Would you like that? More food for Little Silly?”
My son burbles up at me, unaware that he’s even goofed.
“Mama,” he says. “Mama.”
My heart floods with love, and I press a tender kiss to his black curls.
“What would I do without you, Little Silly?” I ask. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
It’s true too. Although I was alternately resentful, horrified, and ashamed that I’d gotten pregnant, the moment the baby was born and laid across my chest, every motherly instinct I had bubbled up inside. I looked down at his red squalling face, scrunched up with tears, and immediately fell in love. Maybe Sylvester’s fathers don’t want me, but they gave me a child, and I’m eternally grateful to them. I’ll always be grateful to Chris and Brett for this wonderful gift.
Now, my baby and I set out with the stroller, and it’s a gorgeous day. Minneapolis has its charms, and we walk downtown, to where the Stop ‘N Save is located.
“I have some coupons, so how about the turkey meal?” I ask Sylvester, pausing in the baby food aisle. I swear he understands because a big smile breaks out on his face, and he bobbles his head.
“Mama,” he says. “Mama.”
I grab a glass jar of baby food, and then throw in another for good measure. “We can afford two,” I say in a light-hearted voice. “With this coupon, we can splurge!”
But when we get to the check-out, my credit card is denied.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk says with a regretful air. “But your purchase isn’t going through.”
I stare, red-faced and embarrassed.
“But it’s only five dollars,” I whisper, my eyes hot. “Is it because I’m using a coupon? Could I buy just one jar then?”
The woman shakes her head regretfully.
“No, it has nothing to do with the coupon. I’m sorry, but it’s your Cross card. Maybe you went over your credit limit? I’m sorry, ma’am.”
I blink back tears because I’m overextended. I know I am. I’m carrying huge balances on three cards because there’s no other way for me to survive. But this is a question of eating or not eating for my baby, and frustration wells up inside.