You Regret The Vasectomy

It is true. I have second thoughts about my husband’s vasectomy.

Why would I want a fourth child? At any given moment my head feels like it’s going to explode. Adding another child to our family is totally irrational. It is absolutely nuts. Like, Duggarnuts nuts.

It’s not that I didn’t want my husband to have the vasectomy. I did. I was totally on board with the snippage. With the thought of free to be you and me sex. I supplied the Ibuprofen, the pre-surgery hand-holding, the frozen pea treatments for the swollen scrotum.

But now I’m having regrets.

It’s not as if my life needs a fourth child or that I’d necessary be a great mother to a fourth child. My life is plenty full.

I’m writing a book of poetry. I’m doing this blog. I’ve got three kids. I’ve got a husband. And a dog. And a kitten. And a father who is flirting with most of the single septuagenarian ladies on the west coast.

(In the last two minutes, I’ve removed the kitten from my computer keyboard, I’ve removed the mouth of the dog from the corner of a book, and I can hear the toddler throwing Legos into the fireplace.

We have a microwave that has a broken keypad so you can only microwave things on the casserole setting. When you press “open” on the DVD player, it opens and then immediately closes. If the house could sell itself and get cleaner occupants I’m sure it would.

And, there is most definitely something living in the back of my minivan and subsisting off of Goldfish crackers.)

All of this, and the fact still remains that I am sad about the decision we made. I saw a new mom holding a tiny bald peanut baby in Starbucks yesterday and almost burst into tears. I saw a new mom doing the new mom bounce with her little one at the grocery store and it pretty much did me in.

I know I am incredibly lucky. I have three healthy, beautiful kids. Yes, I kvetch about them and often feel like everything is about to come unraveled, but I do feel lucky.

And yet there, in the back of my head, there is a small insistent voice: I want one more. And another voice: How selfish! Move on with your life! Concentrate on other things.

I guess I just have a hard time with endings. I have a hard embracing the present as it is without tinkering, without wanting to make it more full, more chaotic, more more.

So, there will be no more little tiny babies. No more pregnancy ultrasounds, no feeling a baby move inside, no dreaming up names, nursing a newborn, experiencing those first newborn days with my husband and kids. No more tiny onesies, size N diapers, or the sweet smell of newborn breath.

It is time to move past the Pea In The Pod (okay, let’s be real: The Motherhood Maternity) chapter of my life.

And it is hard. Much harder than I thought it would be.