Next month, Mr D is getting the snip.
Now that our offspring (aged 2 and 4) have reached an age where life can resume (almost) normal service, after a not-so-lengthy discussion it has been agreed that there will be no more babies. (Except maybe a dog if Mr D, the evil animal hater, will ever agree.) The snip was scheduled to take place on Valentine's Day but, to Mr D's relief, he was given a stay of execution. 'It's the perfect Valentine's gift', proclaimed Mr D via text, 'I hope you'll get me something equally special'. (Erm, the big massive present must have gotten lost in the post dearest.)
To snip or not to snip, is a controversial question.
'I'm refusing to get one,' said my cousin A. His fabulously feisty missus piped up 'I've had two kids, 8 miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy and you won't get the bloody snip.' 'But what if you die and I want to have kids with somebody else?' was A's reply. If that's not worth a slap in the face, what is?
My friend's partner G agrees. 'I'm 45 and fertile, what if I decide to spread my seed elsewhere?' he said. While my dad queried, 'Why don't you get your tubes tied instead?'
According to the Marie Stopes International vasectomy information website, guys who get the snip are heroes. 'This is Darren' it says next to a photo of smug looking sterile bloke. 'Darren had a vasectomy and was back at work two days later. He was awake and laughing during the 15 minute procedure which was performed entirely under a local anaesthetic. His wife also thinks he is a hero and they love that sex is now spontaneous, without having to worry about contraception.'
In a video where Darren talks about his vasectomy experience he quips; 'after about a week or so we got back into sex. Obviously I took it pretty easy but my wife wanted to, you know, 'look after' me for getting it done.' High five Dazza! You're a bloody legend mate.
Ahem, excuse me Dr Marie Stopes, but where was the medal presentation ceremony and ticker tape parade when I was taking responsibility for contraception for the past 20 odd years? Who was calling me a hero when I endured two pregnancies, one drug-free labour (with serious fanny ripping injuries), a c-section and a hefty dose of post-natal depression? Nope, nobody. And nor was Mr D writing me an IOU for a session of cunnilingus as a reward for birthing our children.
By fault of evolution, it's women's bodies who bear the brunt of baby making. After the male of the species has deposited his seed in a minute moment of orgasmic ecstasy, from then on for us women it's months and years of physical and emotional upheaval. Nausea, headaches, weight gain, stretch marks, sleep deprivation, anxiety, guilt, no booze, pain, saggy boobs, vaginal examinations, stitches, hemorrhoids, catheters, injections, cracked nipples, mastitis, exhaustion and loss of freedom to name but a few.
Having children is mostly a wonderfully joyous experience but it's a life changing one where the women's bodies, brains and career's suffer most. A little nip to the nether regions is the least a guy can do. Undertaking a minor surgical procedure in order to make your contribution to 'family planning' is not a heroic deed. It's a responsible and considerate one.
I'm very grateful to Mr D for agreeing to the snip. I won't be throwing him a ticker tape parade or award him a blow job for his bravery, but I will fetch him some frozen peas. It's the least a girl can do.
*I would also like to apologise to those who were upset and disturbed by the mental image of my unkempt lady garden in my 'No Sex Please' post. At least it's nice and warm down there with it's own mohair blanket and all.