A Sympathy Snip

peas
Source: Google images

While my husband had his vasectomy I had my hair cut.  The time had finally arrived and he was very nonchalant about the whole thing.  I had mixed feelings as I dropped him off and he cheerily told me he’d text when he wanted to be picked up.  I think it was the finality of it.  How did I know we were finished?  How did I know three children were enough?

I thought about this as I struggled through my haircut having to stop and breastfeed and cajole a bored and tired baby.  I know that I am done because I want to have a hair cut in peace and get out of wearing roll-top pants.  No, really we have been blessed with three healthy boys and I am grateful.  When Master 6 months was born people asked us if we were ‘going again’ to get a girl.  People seemed disappointed for us.  We are happy with our single gender family.

While I love them dearly, child-rearing is hard.  I want them to grow and learn and see their progress.  I want to focus on teaching them . . . I want to get to the next phase of our family life.

Already there are snippets (ahem) of the fun that is to come.  The funny questions, the strange story-telling and the songs as Master 3 struggles to make sense of his world.  Master 3 and 2 can now go with their Dad for a drive in the truck, to do the shopping or go fishing on the weekend.  They are almost done with their babyhood and each is racing towards being a ‘big boy’.  I feel good about this; that somehow I have done well to get them to their next milestone . . .

When coming home today I glibly explained that Daddy was feeling a bit sore and that they couldn’t jump on him and rumble him.  Master 3 was not going to let me get away with it that easily.

Where’s he sore?
Oh between his legs
Oh between his legs, where between his legs?
His penis is sore mate
Is it sore on the end where the wee comes out?
No underneath where his testicles hang down
Ooohhh . . . why’s his testicles sore?
. . . Ummm, let’s ask him when we get home.

We came into the house with Master 2 chiming over and over ‘testicles sore, testicles sore’ as he danced along.  We found Mr MF propped up on the lounge with an ice pack strategically placed.  He was feeling the effects of our decision as pain killers began to wear off.   He was complaining more about having to wear tight supportive jocks than the procedure itself.  He was still smiling and he thought my hair looked great.

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