When Someone You Used To Have Sex With Gets Pregnant

Well, it finally happened. I’ve been somewhat dreading this moment ever since I left college. The photo came across my Facebook timeline around 12:47pm Central Standard Time. Someone I used to have sex with in college is having a child.

Thankfully, I haven’t known, in the biblical sense, this woman in several years, otherwise, your boy would be booking it to Mexico. Because everyone knows, the best way to face your problems is to act like they never happened in the first place.

It was your typical college whirlwind romance. She was in a sorority and a year older than I was. I was in a fraternity. We had several mutual friends and we flirted nonstop every time we were at the bar, a party or otherwise. I was from a large, Midwestern city and she was from a small, blue collar town in the South. The attraction was there; we were just never able to connect on more than a purely sexual level. One night, it all went down after a mixer at our fraternity house. All through sophomore year, we rendezvoused several times and several times more over Spring Break and then once more during summer break, which led to her breaking up with her then-boyfriend.

I often thought about her and her ways. We grew apart as lovers do as time went on. A year after our senior year, she got engaged to some real cheesy looking guy. The kind of guy you just want to punch in the face just looking at him. Thin, goofy, wispy-haired, with a face you just want to rearrange. Part of me wanted to burst into the ceremony like at the ending of The Graduate and finally profess my pure hatred for this guy I didn’t even know.


There wasn’t anything I could do about it. They were wed. I would call her “the one that got away,” but that would imply that she was worth chasing after in the first place. I just didn’t want her to marry this goober. Let’s just say she could’ve done much better.

So, on Wednesday, I’m at Jason’s Deli, scratch that, I’m in my car eating takeout from Jason’s Deli and reading my Facebook timeline, when I stumble across a picture of her and her hubby holding up a chalkboard pointing to her stomach, and in turn, my stomach dropped out of instinct. She’s pregnant.

At this point, my nostalgia kicked in and I began wondering if it had been me in that position. The image of me booking it to Zihuatanejo, a la Andy Dufresne, was the first image that popped into my head.

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The second image was of me having a child with a woman that I somewhat tolerated and was very sexually attracted to, all the while fearing that my first-born child would ruin this beautiful woman’s body.

The third image was one of normalcy. My parents crying tears of joy over me finally giving them the grandchild that they’d been harassing me about ever since I graduated. It would be just one less thing to worry about despite an whole human baby to worry about.

I sat in reflection while my half-eaten turkey club rested in my lap. Would I really be a good dad? Could I provide for a child of my own? How much is college going to cost in 18 years? Would I be able to love and support an emotional pregnant woman? The answers to all those questions are a strong “maybe?”

As I turned into my office’s parking lot, I couldn’t help but wonder who out there will think all that of me when that first “We’ve got a bun in the oven!” picture gets posted to my Facebook timeline. Thankfully, that won’t be for a long, long time.

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