The big "V" (and we ain't talking victory, baby)

Warning: the following contains an anatomically correct term. Readers who are Yvonne might want to skip this one.

The time has come. We're done with having kids. Even that admission is hard to make, as I tend to think that if I say I don't want any more kids it somehow reflects negatively on how I feel about the ones I have. But it's the ones we have that prompt the decision, in part: we want to parent them well and not be so totally stressed out that we give them miserable lives.

Plus I never, ever, ever want to go through birth again.

Going on forever on birth control: No. I will not take anything that messes with my hormones. Condoms are inconvenient. Spermicides contribute to bladder infections. Natural family planning, while working for us well up until now, is also out. I'm tired of charting (Yes, I know what you're all thinking - how well does NFP work when 2 of your pregnancies weren't planned? NFP worked as long as we used it. It's when we didn't follow the rules that we conceived).

So what did we do? There was never a doubt who would get "the procedure". Rob had seen both on Discovery or some such channel. Tubal ligation is major surgery, with all the inherent risks. A vasectomy is an in office procedure which takes about as long as a mole removal. He also said that as I have gone through birth 3x, it's his turn.

On Tuesday, Rob had a consultation. He said he walked into the office and saw 4 guys, hunkered down in their chairs, all holding magazines that they were staring at intently, totally motionless. The tension could have been cut with a knife. There's a sign in there that says the doctor has done over 9,000 of these. While I want to say, that's good, he's experienced, I think that could also be taken as a point of caution. Guys tend to want to push the envelope a bit, challenge themselves. What if it's my husband on the table when the doc suddently thinks, Hmm, I wonder if I could do this with my eyes closed?

The receptionist told him they had a cancellation and he could come in Thursday. Thursday?? Okay, we've gotta be really sure about this. Babies are wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. Birth is terrible, terrible, terrible. Weighing...yep, I'm sure.

The literature given instructs the patient to shave "the area" with a dry razor. I'm reading this and thinking, Dry? I shaved my legs with a dry razor earlier in the summer and had to later coat them in ointment to stop the burning sensation. They want guys to do that to their scrotums? Who is this doctor, some masochistic crazy with a Honduras medical certificate? (Quick, Erica, what Austin Powers quote is appropriate here????)

But he went in. The kids and I went to the park with Cindy and her kids, and every so often I'd look at my watch and think of Rob and at the same time wonder, should I have angst about this? I'm almost having angst about my lack of angst. This is significant! But it's time. And we know it.

He's doing okay. I have pangs of guilt every so often at the discomfort he's going through and then I remember: I went through birth. It was his turn. Now the only thing to do yet is to bring in a sample after 3 months or 20 "times" to make sure there are no little guys getting through. You can guess which one he's gunning for!