Dear Trojan, I hate you.

The condom broke last night.

And so begins Pregnancy Watch '07.

After we realized what happened, I jumped up from the bed and got in the shower. I knew it wouldn't solve anything, but thorough washing was the only proactive thing I could think of. I pulled back the shower curtain and jumped when I saw Scott sitting on the closed toilet, "I called Walgreen's--they do have Plan B like you thought."

Scott. The look on his face when he saw the broken condom. Considering his previous experience, I knew he was not going to handle this scare very well. I knew I was the one who had to remain calm and collected. I wrapped a towel around me and went into my closet to get dressed, "Well it's a good thing they're open 24 hours."

Scott trailed behind me, "This is what happens when you have sex. You have to be prepared for the consequences. Are you ready to have a child?" When Scott gets serious, his voice can sound patronizing when it is not his intention. I tried to remind myself this.

"You can't be serious."

He followed me into my closet, "Are you ready to have a child?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Are you ready to have a child?"

I felt trapped. Trapped in my closet and trapped by his question. I reached down and grabbed a t-shirt to pull on, "I'm not answering that." I began to shake. I knew this would freak him out and that I had to be the coherent one, but he's in my closet sternly asking about babies.

"Hey hey hey, come here," he stopped me from turning away and pulled me to him. I looked at his face for the first time and saw his lip was trembling and his eyes were tearing, "It's just, I didn't ask that last time. And I should have. I need to know."

"No."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. At first I thought it was a sigh of relief, but he was actually wincing.

"I'm not ready for a baby," I clarified, "But if I don't have a choice about it, I'll deal with it. I'm 26 with a stable job and health care. People actually plan babies when they're my age." I slipped my shirt on and grabbed my car keys. "Look, if you don't want to go, I can go pick up the drugs by myself. You can stay here or go home if you need to. I can handle this." He was so close to breaking down that I wanted to give him an easy out.

"Don't talk like that. I'm staying by your side."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

I've actually taken Plan B before and I'm confident in the drug, but Scott wasn't. No doubt the scare put him in the throes of his first pregnancy. He teared up and described the events: what happened, what he felt. As much as I held on being the strong one, I faltered when I heard all the details. A nervous habit, I began to clean the apartment.

"Will you stop folding the sheets for one minute?" He took the clean laundry from my hands and stuffed it in the chair. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"I want to hear you say you're okay."

"I'm okay."

"I'm with you in this. For the long haul. I'd fight for it." And maybe it was supposed to be a romantic moment, but I felt like another mistake. I want love before a baby. I want someone to marry me because he wants to, not because he feels obliged to. Mostly I wanted to stop talking about pregnancy, because the Plan B is going to work.