My underwear drawer is full of granny panties. Worse, lots of maternity underwear. The last time I treated myself to a new suite of panties was three years ago when my heart dropped into my feet at the sight of a positive pregnancy test. That would make those maternity panties. Sexy.
My husband and I have three children, two boys (7 and 5) and one girl (2 years old). The first child was carefully planned, lovingly scheduled to fit into our lives and to build a life around. The second? Totally a hurricane baby. My meticulous planning fell all to hell when we lost our home in a hurricane and, finding ourselves disorganized and still panicked in a family guest house in a demolished landscape, I miscalculated my times of the month and we made ourselves baby number two.
Should you ever find yourself in the aftermath of a natural disaster, I highly recommend this series of distractions. Sure, it makes it really difficult to find a room in the crowded maternity ward nine months later, but talk about a positive spin on a bad situation.
Three years later, our family of four regained our footing and I realized that we were complete regarding family planning. Two sons were enough, more than enough. I was sure of it. Thoroughly positive.
Honey, time for a vasectomy!
To illustrate our decision, I made the equivalent of a broad sweeping gesture to the universe and sold all of our baby furniture, baby clothes, baby everythings.
See? We’re done.
Three weeks later, I stood in my bathroom and informed a positive pregnancy test, out loud, “No way. No. No!” And then cried. A lot. The universe must have been snickering when I sold all that baby stuff. I was already pregnant as I gave away all of our hard-won nesting goodies, making shushing noises when recipients hesitated because “What if you guys change your minds and have another baby?” Crazy talk.
I stood in that bathroom and cried like a crazy lady.
My husband came home a few hours later, stood in that same bathroom (where I had confined the evidence, lest it sneak out and start babbling), and wondered aloud what all the crying was about, “Because this is good news! Honey, this is wonderful! Another baby!”
Curses. I had plans.
Of course, I didn’t know best. Our daughter was everything we ever wanted and needed to truly complete our family. She is walking proof of my fallibility, and I adore her every step. Her every curl. Her every kiss.
But listen, seriously, we’re done having kids now. Three is enough. For real. Seriously. Look at me. We’re done.
For every birthday and holiday and gift-centric celebration since the birth of my daughter nearly three years ago, I have asked for one thing: a vasectomy.
See above: serious eyes. Highly fertile, serious eyes.
This weekend is Father’s Day. Guess what my husband is giving me? No, just guess. You’ll never guess.
We’ve decided we’re Family Enough. I’m Mom Enough. And by God, he’s Dad Enough.
Honestly, I’m so excited I can’t sit still. Reproduction-free sex? Bring it on. Let’s get it on.
Well, let’s get it on-ish. I asked my friend Kristen via her new Babble advice column for some words of encouragement as we embark on this new baby-free sex territory. I mean, can you imagine? “Pregnant sex” but without the belly and kicking baby!!! And yet I still had a few lingering concerns.
The hold up on the vasectomy decision these last three years? God help me, my husband had been doing research. On the Internet. You can imagine. I swear, he somehow found every single blog written by every bitter, divorced dad in the world, expounding on how vasectomies aren’t all fairy dust and lingerie. Very “Don’t let that woman trick you. She won’t have more sex with you after you get yer balls cut off.” Damn it.
And now I’m having performance anxiety. I was all set to burn my maternity panties and get all sexified. Really. Probably. I’m pretty sure.
But what if those angry ball-snipped dads are right? What if I don’t suddenly feel all foot-loose and panty-free? What if what I thought was the hold up in my libido (big red flashing signs that always screamed, “Baby #4 coming down the pipe!!!” every time I looked at my husband’s nether regions with an idea or two) wasn’t actually pregnancy-related?
Pshaw. It was all pregnancy-related. Highly fertile serious eyes nod in confident agreement.
Mark my words: A vasectomy is the most generous Father’s Day gift we could ever gift to our relationship.
My man is Dad Enough. Now then, let’s get it on.
Tell me: Has your husband had a vasectomy? Have you considered it for your family? What do you think it would do for your sex life?
Oh, and check out Kristen’s schooling me on how I’m thinking about all of this the wrong way. To which, I begrudgingly agree. I’m working on reframing it. Right after I frame a photo of my husband in the hospital gown. God love him. Thank you, honey. Happy Father’s Day!
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