Snipped, or not. That IS the question…
I’m an adult. Which comes with all sorts of lovely privelages….I can drink adult beverages, and while I no longer get carded enough to make me feel young, I can still order a fabulous bottle of wine…I can stay out as late as I want, up as late as I want, watch anything and everything on tv that my little heart desires, and, importantly, I can have sex... one might wonder just where this conversation is going…trust me, part of me wonders that as well.
I have this very strong belief, that if you engage in adult activities, one should be able to discuss them. Safety, leaps to mind here. As I’m about to embark on this Big Girl Grown Up Conversation with M, I’ll admit, there are giant condors floating around in my tummy. I’m rather clammy, and shaking…and I shouldn’t be. Afterall, if we’re big enough to do this, we should be big enough to face any consequences. NOT, I should preface this moment with, that there are any….consequences…we need to address, other than that we’re not being Very Adult. We’re playing russian roulette, with 43 year old sperm, and quite frankly, I’m not a huge fan.
It’s not that I don’t want more children; but I’m not sure I do. And, I know that M doesn’t. I totally respect that he knows, exactly, without a shadow of a doubt, that he doesn’t - but then, why should the whole burden of birth control fall exclusively to me? I think HE should bear that particular responsibility. See, he knows he never wants anymore - no matter with whom he is - so really, I’m thinking mostly of him. Also, a bit for me, as I never again want to have the Guess What, We’re Expecting…And We Didn’t Plan It Chat. Since the whole tested positive for a possible blood clot, heart attack blah blah blah, my OB has said a unilateral, resounding NO, to any sort of birth control method on my part: that includes apparently, an hormone based ones, IUDs, and clearly anything made from latex (I’m, ahem, allergic)…..so perhaps, you’d like to know what prompted this Sudden Onset of Adulthood.
I was late. Two weeks late. And, I flipped out. I took the tests. All six of them. (It was two weeks we’re talking about here!) They all came back negative. Not even a little positive…I know, I know, a little bit pregnant? C’mon! But seriously, the box says that even the tiniest of a plus sign means an unequivocal You’re Up The Pole My Friend. Not even the faintest cross. So, on the one hand, I’m totally relieved…on the other, I’m not.
I couldn’t talk to M about it. M! He’s my bestest friend, and, well, I adore him. (really, I’m mostly all the way totally head over heels in love with him, but I”ve not told him yet, so it’ll be our little secret) Really stung. How could I be afaid of talking to M? Sucks. Just thinking about it sucks. I invited him over. He should be here any minute. And then, we can have The Talk.
_________________________________________________________________________two hours later….
I bit the bullet - now, as he’s not into Out Of Left Field Commentary (yes, I too asked him: do you know me?) I asked him to set aside some time to Check In With Each Other. Upon arrival, I dithered with getting water, getting seated, getting sweaty and clammy, calming the condors…and launched. Wasn’t he ever worried? Didn’t it ever cross his mind that we were being so fucking stupid? How can I be the only one that’s ever worried? I love my life. I love my son. I don’t want anymore. I don’t want to have That Scary Talk with him; he’s not even looking at me. The pit in my stomach grew and grew and grew, and pretty soon, I just wanted it to eat me and be done with it.
He announces, in the world’s smallest voice: “Iknew. I knew you were late. I know you’re cycle. But I kept thinking, this couldn’t be happening….it wasn’t possible, you’re not supposed to be able to have any more kids…”
I’ll cut to the chase: Snipping, is IN. Made my case, quite elloquently, once begun; I wanted him to be happy, I like knowing he chooses to be with me, not because he has to; I adore our sex life, in all that in entails, but he’s got to step up to the stirrups, and be responsible.
Now I’m waiting, again, but at least time, not with quite so baited breath.
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