Last month, my partner decided to undergo a vasectomy. Yes, you read that right—he’s officially planning to shoot blanks from here on out, and I’m completely on board with this decision. As I sat in the waiting area during his outpatient procedure (a small operation I had been urging him to schedule for over a year), I experienced a whirlwind of emotions that could have landed me in a therapy session. You see, while I’m relieved about no more newborn snuggles, I’m also a sentimental person who adores babies. Thus, my mind was racing with thoughts.
- Finally! Could he have taken any longer to make this appointment? I’ve been nudging him to contact the clinic ever since I gave birth last January! How many reminders does one need? I wasn’t particularly keen on attending my prenatal checkups, but I went, and I certainly didn’t have a choice when it came to childbirth. Seriously, how hard is it to pick up the phone? Maybe he was worried about something catastrophic happening down there. Wait, that’s not what they do, right? Quick Google search on vasectomies while cursing the hospital’s Wi-Fi.
- No more birth control pills! Hallelujah! No more remembering to take that little pill every night. I’m convinced the hormonal birth control I was on for years contributed to my sanity slipping away. Not to mention the acne and weight gain. I’m tossing those pills tonight.
- Is he really going to complain about pain? I pushed three babies out of me, and I had stitches—not once, not twice, but three times! No meds either. The first time I gave birth, I was in agony for weeks. And let’s not even discuss the bathroom aftermath! So no, I’m not in the mood to hear about discomfort. He should be grateful he can walk without fear of an accident.
- Goodbye phantom baby kicks! You know that feeling when you think you can still feel a baby moving inside you, even though you’re not pregnant anymore? It’s almost as if you’re convinced you might be one of those women who give birth on the toilet without realizing they’re expecting. Thankfully, the phantom kicks should be a thing of the past now.
- What if it doesn’t work? What if I end up pregnant again despite the procedure? I can’t shake the worry. What’s the success rate on vasectomies? Should I ask the doctor, or will he think I’m nuts? Every friend I told had a “vasectomy baby” story to share. I think it’s supposed to be 99.9% effective, but what if it’s 89%? Ugh.
- What would a fourth baby have been like? Would it have been a boy or a girl? What would we name him or her? Baby naming is such a joy, and I’ll miss the perks of getting to park in the expectant mother spots at the grocery store. I wonder what color eyes a fourth child would have had. Maybe I should just ask the receptionist if I could go in and stop the procedure. Boom! Fourth baby!
- Do we have frozen peas and Advil? I’m curious about the pain level he’ll experience. Will he need a wheelchair? Will he manage the stairs after this? I should’ve done more research on post-op care. I think there’s a pack of frozen peas somewhere in the freezer, maybe behind the ice cream sandwiches. Now I’m hungry.
- No, our family is complete. I mean, right? Yes, it is. He’s been in there for a while, so it must be done. I feel at peace with our three beautiful children. They all sleep through the night, thank goodness. I can’t handle sleepless nights again. I had to buy a minivan for crying out loud! We’re definitely finished. For sure.
- Yes, those sleepless nights were terrible. Yes, they were.
In conclusion, while I sit here anxiously awaiting the outcome of my partner’s procedure, I’m reflecting on our family dynamics and the journey we’ve taken together. If you’re interested in exploring fertility options, resources like Mount Sinai’s Infertility Resources and TFP Nurture Fertility are excellent places to start. Plus, if you’re looking to enhance your fertility journey, check out this post on fertility supplements.