*I hope my husband forgives me for being nice to him in public.
We decided before we even tried to knock me up that we only wanted one child. I was (effectively) an only child and, for the most part, loved it. Chip was always adamant that he’d only have one (if he had any at all). For a while I was holding out for two, but that was before I spent extended time around my friends with two (or more) kids. Guys, I don’t know how you do it, and I am in awe.
Of course, then there was the part where we discovered all the genetic fuckery in my DNA. Short version (long version here and a whole blog about it here) is that my father and brother and I all have a genetic defect that causes catastrophic skeletal defects. I’m almost asymptomatic, but my brother and father are affected, and my first son was as well. After losing Isaac, with a solid 50/50 chance of passing it on. Seriously, losing the baby was awful enough on its own, and worrying about Edward (not to mention enough ultrasounds to actually fill a photo album) through the second pregnancy was hell.
So, three strikes, right there, but only after I explain all those things do people generally accept that we really, really don’t want more, and we won’t change our mind. To that end, Chip went in for a vasectomy on Friday. It is the most awesomely romantic thing he’s done since he bought me four new tires.
I’m kind of falling in love with him all over again. He’s willing to go through this really shitty weekend and put himself through pain for the sake of our (now complete) family. He’s taking away all the worry I’ve had for the past year, that there would be an “oops” and I hate to even imagine it. Like a whole lot of women I know, I can’t take hormonal birth control of any kind. I get migraines that knock me out of commission and get very erratic and emotional. I’m not overly prone to PMS unless I’m on birth control. Then, oh fuck, just lock me in a room with some chocolate and diet soda and come back in three days.
There’s a kind of balance to it, too. There have been so goddamn many times in this two-year adventure in babymaking (which sounds sexier than it was) that I was in too much pain to do anything but sit. All of that pain was ultimately to bring E here, so I don’t resent a moment of it. But it’s sort of fitting that now he’s the one hurting for our family. Not that a vasectomy is even close to childbirth on the pain scale, but it’s kind of viciously pleasing to see him unable to sit comfortably.
I don’t want this to get too mushy, or too personal, given that I’m already talking to strangers about my husband’s ballsack. I just love him so damn much for stepping up and taking care of this. It was over in less than fifteen minutes and the worst of the pain is gone, but the respect and gratitude are there for good. Practical, mundane shit like this is the stuff that matters in the end. So babe, I love you and I can’t wait for you to heal.