Well, it is finally official. More than one year--and one unexpected baby--after his initial consultation, I drove my hubby down to his doctor for the infamous 'snip'. I have to confess to some guilt about this whole affair. Essentially, he did this for me. For us both, and our family, sure. But mostly for me.
The other night, about two days before his appointment, I asked him how he was feeling about it. He confessed to some trepidation and asked innocently if I really didn't want any more children. His tone suggested that he might be reconsidering our "four's enough for us" policy. I have to say, it rocked me to the core. I started crying. "Please, honey, I can't do that again. All the nausea and vomiting, the getting so big I can hardly walk, the sleeplessness both before and after the delivery..." It was all I could do not to wail. Certainly not the response my partner had pictured. "I thought you'd smack me and say 'What, are you, crazy?'" he told me later.
This whole week as he has put up with the pain, swelling and stitches without once blaming me. He has been helpful around the house, playful with the kids, and it was wonderful to have him home for several days in a row. If I was a less sensitive spouse, I'd tease him that we should do this more often. As it is, I just want him to know that I'm thankful.
Yes, I've been warned about the six-month stint where the little spermies are still swimming. Even still, my sweetie picked the proper time to have this taken care of. Our upcoming anniversary marks the seventh year of our wedding--and the month we have gotten pregnant every time around. Perhaps next year we can resume our customary anniversary vacation...and come home without a souvenir that eats, sleeps and cries.
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