Aaaaaaaaand .. that’s all folks! No more babies in this household. No siree, Bob. Because, a few weeks ago, Mr T got the snip.
Right from the outset, Mr T and I clearly had differing views on the whole deal.
I suggested he get the snip, as I was fed up dealing with birth control. And, I knew we were confident that we were 100% done with baby making. The pregnancy scare late last year cemented any doubt I had. You know you are done-burger when a pregnancy test comes back negative and you high-five each other.
Mr T stalled on making the appointment, so I offered to make it for him. He said I was breaching his human rights.
And then, a few days later, he made the appointment. And boy, was I excited. I happily wrote it on the calender, and told anyone who would listen. Heck, I practically shouted it from the roof tops.
Mr T quietly mentioned it to a few male colleagues, and they somberly discussed the procedure. I talked about it with my friends who had been through the process with their partners.
“It’s nothing” they said.
“He can sit on peas for a day and he’ll be sweet” they said.
As the day got closer, Mr T got quieter. And despite my bringing it up regularly, was reluctant to talk about it. He even joked about cancelling the appointment.
This was my reaction.
And so, on the day, we excitedly (me) and nervously (him) drove to the clinic.
Me: Do you know what I think the pain will be like?
Him: I’m going to stop you right there. You do NOT know what the pain will be like. Nothing you say will make me feel better
Me (very quietly): I think the pain will be like childbirth, but not as bad. Just saying.
And so we drove on. When we got there, we sat silently in the waiting room until the doctor came out. Mr T leaped up, said goodbye and disappeared into the room.
He clearly didn’t want me in the room, which was ok. Because I absolutely did NOT want to be in there. Oh, no. Nope. Nope.
So, while my dear hubby was having his bits chopped and snipped, I was happily and excitedly sitting across the road in a cafe, enjoying kid-free coffee time. This vasectomy business is hard work, I thought to myself.
While I was sitting there, I got to thinking. Was it wrong that I was excited? Not at all feeling sad or even moderately disappointed that this basically confirmed us to three kids? I waited for the sadness to creep in, the urge to run across the road, fling the door open and declare, “Stop the operation, I want more BABIES!!!”.
Nope. Didn’t happen. Not even close. I felt like a kid at Christmas.
Mr T was, understandably, delicate afterwards. He commented that 30-something years of fertility had come to an end. I raised my hand for a high five before realising this wasn’t a high five moment for him! And then I felt bad again. Because I was thinking, 17 years of birth control coming to an end! Weeeeeee-heeeeee! Squeeeee!
It’s now been ten days, and from what I understand, the bruising has gone and things are getting better. No, I didn’t see it. No, I didn’t want to see it. No, I didn’t even want to see a picture of it. Nope. I just sympathetically patted Mr T’s head and did my diligent wifey role by scooping in to grab the kids when they started climbing all over daddy.
I asked Mr T what he thinks about it now, and he says he doesn’t think about it. High five!
I was asked by my sister a month or so ago, was I sad that BabyGirl is my youngest child? And I can say with full clarity that I am not. I would be sad if she wasn’t to be the youngest. Because she is our baby!
And now, we can forge forward as our awesome family-of-five, excitedly looking forward to the future, to all the things we have yet to come.