This year has been an interesting one. Among a million other things, we welcomed our third child, an adorable, healthy, sweet-as-can-be, happy accident. Yes, she was the complete product of a simple careless night. And if anyone remembers from my previous post on life’s finest curve ball , you’ll recall that prior to that one-off night, we had just completed a purge on everything baby in our home. We had two kids, a boy and a girl, two dogs, two jobs, and life itself was busy but perfect.
I clearly remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I had that “just punched in the stomach” feeling the very day I missed my period. It was not uncommon for me to be a day or two late, but I just KNEW. I put my toddler in the car and headed to Target. I kept it to myself all day, as the line on the test was ever so faint. You could only see it in the direct Texas sunlight. You can pretty much see anything in the Texas sunlight; it can even make you hallucinate, but again, I KNEW.
I had a typical, estrogen-packed, internal freak out, but then went on with my day, pathetically telling myself that there’s a very good chance that test was defective and there was absolutely no need to worry. That night, I was scheduling social media blog content for our site, when I came a cross a brand spankin’ new post by Whitney Reed titled Life With 3 Kids – How Everything Changes by #3. I’m pretty sure my heart stopped for a hot second when I saw and read this. IT. WAS. A. SIGN. The post made me laugh out loud (it’s seriously hysterical…and true) but after finishing reading, that “just punched in the stomach” feeling came back with full force.
After dropping my oldest off at school the next morning, my toddler and I went back to Target. This time I came home with five tests, all different brands and styles. I obviously don’t need to spell out what happened next, but I will.
POSITIVE. POSITIVE. POSITIVE. POSITIVE. POSITIVE.
Before I even booked my own OBGYN appointment, I called my husband’s general practitioner. “Reason for the appointment?” they asked me. “Neutering consultation,” I replied without a breath or blink. Clearly, we would have 9+ months to make this appointment, but I needed it to be on the books. There would be no discussion of other options. I would be giving up my ability to wake up with vomiting, get through the day without falling asleep in a pile of drool, and sleeping through the night ever again. He would in turn be giving up his ability to produce sperm. End of story.
The consultation played out, a urologist was recommended, and the appointment was eventually set…for the day after his birthday. This was intentional only to the effect that his birthday fell during the week of school starting and I would be needing extra help with handling three kids and a major routine change. Forget the recovery, I needed all hands on deck. Slap an ice pack on those puppies and move on with your life. I mean, I squeezed a human out of a tiny hole three separate times. Don’t tell me your laparoscopic snip is bringing you to your death bed. #sorrynotsorry
The kids and I dropped him off at the urologist, went for a Target run, and came back in 90 minutes to pick him up. Easy peasy.
For those of you who have a little more sympathy for your husbands than I do, I will tell you that although he did complain of tenderness and couldn’t lift over 10 pounds for five days, it really was “no big deal at all.” I’m not just saying that because I’m a cold fish. Those words came from his mouth.
They do give you a strict warning that those little spermies can still continue their Olympic swimming sprees for 3-4 months, post surgery. My OBGYN also warned me that the ONLY vasectomy babies she has ever delivered were conceived during that 3-4 month period. So, needless to say, my nightstand is full to the brim with back-up barriers for the next YEAR because I’m not taking any chances.
Kidding aside, if you and your partner have ever discussed this option, I would say that it was a very smooth process. I think my husband really enjoys attempting to make me feel bad by telling people I got him neutered for his 30th birthday. My response: “I sure did!”
Today that preliminary “oh no” has turned into an enthusiastic “OH YES, our family is complete.” However, if I ever had to add one more to this brood, my head would literally explode.
Vasectomies save lives.