There’s very little things I’m grateful for more in my life than Patrick giving of his vas deferens to the great medical waste dump in the sky.
(I’m not sure that’s the actual body part that was snipped at the in-and-out vasectomy appointment those 5+ years ago, but I don’t feel like looking at photos of nutsacks this morning, and “vas” is common to both the body part I’m naming and the procedure, so let’s just pretend I’m right.)
Exactly 3 weeks after I pushed my second and most precarious child from my tearing nethers, Patrick drove himself to the urologist, laid his pantsless self on the examining table, smelled the sweet smell of burning flesh, then drove himself home to lie on the couch for exactly 2 days with ice on his now-spermless junk. 6 days after the procedure, he played ice hockey. To say he’s the manliest of manly men is an understatement.
It’s the greatest gift he’s ever given me and my family: The Gift Of the Snip. Best $130 co-pay ever.
I do not want, I’ve never wanted, I’d give up for adoption, a 3rd child. I’m not kidding.
For me, it’s not for me. For those of you who do have 2+ children, I applaud your sanity. I bow to your ability to stay alive and keep the children from being taken away by the Department of Children & Families. You? Are Wonder Woman.
Me? I’m a 2 Kid Mother. No more, no less.
We had the pleasure of babysitting my 2-month-old niece Sunday night. She’s gorgeous. She’s sweet. She’s easy. She smells like a baby. She’s cuddly. She smiles. She’s an amazing baby model.
We had her all to ourselves for 6 hours.
Within the first hour of having her here, my decision to never have another baby was cemented, covered, smothered, chunked, diced, and gravied. Never ever NEVER do I want to have to be responsible for another baby. Ever.
They are hard work, yo!
All that cradling and rocking and swaddling and feeding and sleeping and not sleeping and crying and crying and snuggling and crying?
I’m happy to babysit and give them back.
But damn, she’s cute.