So it's new year, new start, new decisions. And we're still at that old chestnut of a dilemma about Husband's forthcoming vasectomy. It's not a dilemma for me obviously, it's the natural, easy decision to ensure our child rearing is restricted to the two we chose, but it seems that Husband is still undecided. Actually undecided doesn't really do the situation justice, denial is probably the best way of representing Husband's state of mind; denial and procrastination. Excellent.
The thing is, it's almost impossible to discuss it with him, bring the subject up (in all senses of the word) and he cowers in the corner, whimpering like a damp dog confronted with the hair dryer. He then recounts excuse after excuse as to why he should be left intact and as nature intended him (I always point out that he's ginger and nature probably didn't intend for him to reproduce at all, so he's damn lucky he got me and my willingness - within reason - to mate with him). The worst is that his boss had it done last year and has spent the last twelve months regaling Husband with tales of cow-pat-like scrotums and John Wayne walks to the off licence for a ball numbing beer. Husband's fear stems from hearing about the injections where nobody should ever be allowed to inject. I point out that he's very keen for the dog to have it done, and even teases him about how he should make the most of being virile before the vet loads his syringe. But Husband says that dogs were born to have it done, it's responsible, whereas removing his own virility may affect the future population's ability to include ginger in their gene pool. I'm considering conducting a survey to establish whether this is a primary concern for the local community. I'm guessing it's probably pretty low on the agenda, at least behind the spaceship landing area someone has proposed for the local park.
Anyway, Husband has been trying to find alternative ways to ensure us a two child only future but short of tying a knot in it and abstaining completely (I've offered to take a lover should he choose to do this, sometimes I'm all heart) there really isn't anything he can do that isn't ultimately up to me. He came home on Friday in a state of high excitement however. Helpful Boss had told him about the male pill and suggested this as an alternative to the looming purple melon scrotum he was about to have inflicted. Damn. The male pill is something I've been keeping under wraps as much as possible. The male pill involves a certain amount of personal responsibility from its imbiber, at the very least a memory capable of, you guessed it, remembering to take it daily at the same time of day. That's three things to remember: Take it daily, take it at the same time each day, and remember that you actually have to take it. No chance. This is a man ladies and gentlemen who was told by the dental hygienist that he has an infected gum and needs to do a salt rinse every night. He was told this three months ago. He's remembered his salt wash, ooh about zero times, even with a bloody, swollen gum to remind him. How on earth is he going to remember the Pill except perhaps at a time of heightened ardour (when I promise you I at least will remember it, and also remember the fifty two pills he's forgotten in a row). This is a man who routinely leaves one or both of his children strapped in the car on arriving home. Only discovering their absence after he has entered the house, made himself a cup of tea and realised there's nothing on TV. So would I trust our family planning to this Man. In a word, no.
So we have to discuss it sometime, but he won't even let me use the word Vasectomy in his presence. It's been hard going trying to think up an alternative name that is acceptable: your little procedure results in squeals of denial about there being nothing little or procedure like about the Major Testicular Surgery I am trying to get him to have. Lopping your balls off lasted for about five seconds (I thought it was good: precise and to the point and most importantly hilarious. To me.). I can't use snip because it's what Isla likes to do with scissors and evokes visions of child-surgeons and blunt nursery scissors. So I've plumped for when you go for your third child prevention surgery which has been reasonably successful. I think because it reminds him of the logic behind the little procedure (it's my blog I'll call it what I like, and besides compared to childbirth it is a little procedure, crikey the needle's tiny!). It really is the only assured way to a safe, easy, small car owning, two child future. Put it like that and it makes sense, it's the sensible, the sane, the downright responsible choice for sensible, sane, downright responsible families. Wonderful, decision made. Oooh I can't wait to lop his balls off.