With my first two children, I thought daily about names, room décor, clothing, toys and the general magic of welcoming a new baby. Now, with seven weeks to go, I think constantly of two things — tubal ligation or vasectomy.
Brian and I started talking marriage when we were 22; even then I knew I would push forth only three children. Ironic, since I am the fourth and last child of Dave and Julie.
According to my older sister, I am the byproduct of a botched vasectomy, although Mother insists Dad wasn’t clipped until after I was born. I’ve yet to see any actual documentation to support her claims. No idea why I’m more inclined to believe my sister, as she once tied me to a pole with my pants down.
Moms constantly throw around their “number.” For many, it starts around five, then with each passing child, that number slides down. I’ve never met a woman whose number went up after each kid. If such a lady exists, I would love to meet her; she’s proved to be tougher than I. FYI, “tough” is interchangeable with “deranged.”
For me, three has always been my number, and this pregnancy has cemented my belief.
Friends and family smirk after I answer the question of “Are you done yet?” with a re-sounding “YES,” as if this look of exhaustion or saggy face is an act to throw them off the scent of my deep desire to rival Michelle Duggar.
My passive-aggressive rant having been posted, I can now move on with the next issue at hand. Due to some complications with my placenta (second grossest word having to do with childbirth, “mucus plug” being the first), I’m looking at another C-section. For me, this isn’t the ideal way to deliver, but my lovely doctor Margit Lister, says I could get my tubes tied while I’m “on the table.”
Brian’s unnerving support of my wishes to be done after baby three leads me to believe he’d tie his own tubes if they weren’t located in his nether regions. He’s volunteered for a vasectomy, since a procedure such as tubal ligation can be invasive before and after the surgery.
Three things are bothering me about both options. First, the dissonance of feeling like I’m done having babies while fearing parts of my body created solely for the reason of bearing children are now retiring.
In some religious groups, like the FLDS, women no longer bearing children are put out to pasture. Although I’m not sure they are the most appropriate group to cite. Biologically, scientists say, men are attracted to women who can birth their children, so will Brian still think I’m hot with my knotted lady parts?
Second, miscarriage is a side effect often experienced by women after getting their tubes tied. What a heartbreaking experience, knowing you’re growing a baby but it has no chance of surviving. It’s a conundrum.
I don’t want any more children, but I fear if I were to get pregnant after ligation, I would get excited, only to be brutally disappointed. Argh, now I’m even more confused after writing that sentence!
Early in life, a girl learns that a boy often views his penis as some type of sacred idol. It’s viewed as a source of power tied to self-esteem. I remember being 8 and knowing that if I just kicked in the general area, a boy would roll to fetal position. I remember, at 16, I could make a remark about size just to gain the upper hand. When I announced my first pregnancy, Brian grinned while shouting, “My boys can swim.”
I fear Brian will be disappointed in his penis should it be messed with, if his boys can no longer swim. He insists a vasectomy wouldn’t change his penis outlook, despite decades of running jokes surrounding the vasectomy — oh, and that foreboding look that sweeps across his face when I mime scissors.
That’s it. Nothing major going on in my mind. Just deciding the future of my uterus and whether or not to sterilize Brian.