Toxic Shock and Trying to Conceive

My anxiety was about my physical world, suddenly looming over me. I tried to concentrate on that what-if-we-just-made-something feeling, but the crack in the ceiling above my head distracted me. It was suggesting a different sort of what-if. As in, what if that’s lead paint? What if that stain where the window meets the wall is actually toxic mold? What if the zit cream I smeared on my face before climbing into bed can lead to birth defects? And the wine I drank hours earlier? The fumes wafting through the vents from my building’s boiler?

Olli wandered into the bedroom, unfazed, with a glass of water. I sipped. He turned out the lights. I couldn’t sleep. Why had I taken a sip? We use a Brita filter. But what if even Brita isn’t safe? What’s in that filter anyway? The water sits in a plastic pitcher in our fridge. Isn’t plastic toxic? And plastic is everywhere -- my computer, all of my food storage containers, the television, the printer, the remote control, the Cuisinart, the garbage pail, the hangers, all of the plastic bags, my phone. What about cell phones? Eventually I drifted off.

I headed to the shower to calm my nerves. Fat chance. The bathroom was like a House of Horrors. Can Soft Scrub residue get in your system via your feet? What about the black mold dancing across our (plastic!) shower curtain? And the roach bait behind the toilet? The cat litter winked at me; I recoiled. I brushed my teeth and almost cracked -- was fluoride bad? And what about my deodorant (aluminum), hydrocortisone cream (steroids), and just about every shampoo, lotion, and perfume on my shelf (all made with chemicals potentially harmful to growing babies)? Even my pedicure made me nervous, but I didn’t dare risk acetone fumes to remove the poisonous polish.

“My neighbor smokes, too. You can’t think like that. If there’s something you can do, do it; but you have to live in the world. Can you shut the heat vent? Just write down everything you’re freaking out about and we’ll start Googling.” Deirdre’s good like that. Trying to get pregnant has made her hyper-aware, but she’s also a realist.

I started to make breakfast. Scrambled organic eggs with organic scallions (well done, just in case -- and not in a nonstick pan, for good measure). I sliced up an organic wheat baguette from my favorite local place. The bread -- and Deirdre --soothed me. I used to be this neurotic about everything I ate. Simple newspaper articles would lead me to think lettuce was deadly. As a defense, I researched everything that concerned me and decided eating organic would save my health --and my sanity. I promised Deirdre I’d take the same approach with my cracked ceiling.

Olli climbed out of bed and retrieved the remaining cup of coffee. He smiled. As I sectioned my grapefruit, I didn’t feel pregnant. But I knew that by the time I was, I would have figured out if my aluminum grapefruit spoons were out to hurt our offspring. If they were, so be it. I’ve always preferred silver anyway.