Sitting here on Mother's Day with people running around tearing things up and fighting, and Mr. Ashley out on a work call (his new position keeps him "on call" 2 weeks every month), I can't help but think that what I REALLY want for Mother's Day is a fool-proof birth control plan.
I love the two kids that I have more than words can express, they are what makes life good and despite all of my bitching, they bring me constant joy and give me a reason for being...but I don't want more. Unequivocally, absolutely, positively DO NOT WANT to give birth ever again. I don't even get those pangs of longing when looking at other people's bellies or babies. I feel warm and fuzzy over their excitement and I love their babies, but lord am I glad it isn't me. The very thought of it being me gives me the heebie jeebies, and not in a good way.
As if to illustrate my point, little kid is screaming "CAN YOU WIPE MY BUTT?" from the other side of the house as I type this. He will not do it himself. Ever, he swears.
That's the kind of stuff I don't need more of.
But every birth control option out there sucks and hormones and I don't mix well. After much research, the idea of a vasectomy came up and Mr. Ashley agreed that it made the most sense. I even argued against it at first, pointing out that he may go on to marry someone else some day and maybe she would want kids. Too bad for her! he declared. He didn't want more kids or to start over again with babies, no matter what.
Until I got down to researching doctors and then actual appointment times. Now there's just major evasion of the topic when it comes up.
"It seems a little invasive," he mentioned.
"Yeah, so is growing a human being in your body for a year and then pushing a whole person out of your vagina and letting it suck on your boobs for another year. Twice." I reminded him.
"True," he agreed.
Now whenever the kids are fighting or ruining our fun, I say, "You want more of this? Throw in some dirty diapers and midnight feedings?" and he agrees that it sounds pretty awful.
There are days where, if I had a better grasp of biology and knew where my tubes actually were, I'd chew through my own flesh and tie those puppies up myself. Without anesthetic.
Now that's invasive. Moms know invasive.