Those of you close to me (or, let’s be honest, within hearing range, since I’m so very subtle) know that I’m not planning on any more kids. Two works well for me, plus I’ve been pregnant 5 times, so that gets me bonus blessings, right? That said, every once in a while–we’re talking rare here–I see my toddler going crazy over a baby and think, “Would another one be so terrible?”
Of course, the answer to this is a resounding YES. I don’t want to spend more time in the NICU. I don’t want to spend 6 months nauseated. And, quite frankly, I just don’t want another child. I realize there are women out there who breed magnificently* and mother like Mary Poppins, but I’m not that woman. My two kids have maxed out my patience, and I firmly believe a third would send me on an extended trip to the psychiatric ward “tired hospital.”
Anyway, I’ve mentioned my child-bearing plans before, but I wanted to re-establish my feelings before I jump into my latest topic, which is:
Who gets fixed?
My husband and I discuss this from time to time. For years I’ve felt he really needs to be the one to take care of things on that end–after all, I’m on blood thinners, and a tubal wouldn’t be a real cakewalk. Then they came out with that whole Essure thing, and that pretty much killed any arguments I had along that vein. Suddenly permanent birth control for women doesn’t involve invasive surgery. Huh.
My newest argument: “Do I really need to list all the painful things I went through to bear children?” That’s right, I’m playing the natural childbirth card. (For those who are unaware, my natural childbirth was not by choice. The jerkwad anesthesiologist was all, “It’s a black box warning. You could end up paralyzed for life.” And I was all, “DO YOU THINK I CARE? GIVE ME MY DAMN EPIDURAL!” Sadly, she won. They claimed to give me pain medication through my IV, but I’m pretty sure they made that up.)
Wait, what was I talking about?
Oh, yeah. The pain argument. So I said, “Honey, do I need to go through all the painful things I’ve experienced to bear our children?”
Then from the other side of the car I hear, “Yeah, but it’s my stuff.”
This is said in about the same tone of voice as I would use if I were discussing some sort of holy relic. “It’s the Holy Grail.” Seriously. I didn’t know you could relay such weightiness of topic in just three words, but there it is.
I did try for, “So, what, my stuff doesn’t count since it’s internal?” But really, we all know it doesn’t count. When was the last time I spoke with reverence about my fallopian tubes? Sure, my uterus is all kinds of awesome, but it’s just not the same.
The good news is that we don’t have to make a decision immediately. We have 8 more years to replay this conversation. Hopefully by then, we’ll have decided whose stuff makes the cut. Hee. See, that’s funny, because I’m talking about surgery.
*This is possibly the most awesome phrase I’ve ever written.