I think pretty much everyone who knows me knows that I would have a bunch of kids if I could. I really was the epitome of awesome pregnant lady. I had it easy both times and both my labor and delivery were breezes. Plus we ended up having really awesome kids who are ridiculously adorable and lovable both times. Some say you shouldn't chance your luck, but I saw screw them.
Except I don't say that to Matt because as it turns out, he's one of those people. He really wants to be done with kids. I really don't know if I want to be done with kids. On one hand, we are good parents who love our children and I don't care what Matt says- financially we could handle it. We'd find a way just like we did with these two. On the other hand, I think my mom is done watching kids while I work. I don't blame her. We were incredibly fortunate to have her as our daycare when the kids were smaller. I couldn't have another kid and make them go to daycare when the other two had the luxury of being with grandma all day every day and getting completely spoiled. Plus, I don't want to tie her down here. I think she wants to move away and as much as I would miss her, I absolutely understand it- I would go too. I also no longer have ANY baby stuff. We sold or donated it all and I cried so hard the day I gave our crib away. I can't even tell you how hard I cried and how angry I was that Matt just disregarded the emptiness I felt. I really felt like someone was ripping the option away from me.
But here we are, four years since that traumatic day in the garage, and I still feel like... maybe I'm not done. Maybe I want that third one. I don't feel like our family is truly complete. Matt does, he's very much done. He doesn't want any more. He's concerned about finances, he's concerned about sleep, he's concerned about having a middle child. Which, admittedly, that worries me too. I don't want my love bug Jackson to turn into the proverbial middle child. I know a lot of middle children and 80% of them are hot messes. I don't want me baby Jack to turn into a hot mess. So my plan of attack has always been to lay low and maybe sweet talk Matt into it.
Yesterday Matt came home early to make phone calls about getting a vasectomy. And I'll be honest- I was floored. We only kind of talked about it, and it has always ended with me not feeling sure I want to be done. So to say I felt like the wind was knocked out of me was an understatement. So now I'm faced with really coming to the conclusion that I guess we're done. I guess I don't really get a choice. Or, Matt's choice outweighs mine so we go with it. Which... I don't know how I feel. I know I feel sad, and I cry if I think about it for too long, but maybe that gets better with time. I don't know. I guess I'll have to find out.
But what DID cheer me up was listening to his options and watching him be a complete man child about it. Here's what it is:
1. Pay $700 out of pocket, drive a little over two hours to a Planned Parenthood in St. Paul, get a Valium and a local, snip snip, get in the car and come home.
2. Pay $1750 out of pocket, drive 15 minutes to the hospital in Duluth, get a bit more anesthesia but obviously not enough to knock him out, snip snip, drive home.
I don't think I need to tell you that option one would be worth every penny. The shitty thing is that we'll have to pay for all of it out of pocket because YAY, his insurance doesn't cover any of it but it does go towards our $4500 deductible. Frankly, this sounds like something that probably gets done out of vans in Mexico but he doesn't think it's worthwhile to take a vacation to Arizona with a side trip to Mexico. Something about drug runners and organ harvesting. Whatever. Sounds like he's a fun killing man child to me.
Either way, I apparently have to take him. Which is some bullshit because if I can push a child out of my vagina (TWICE) and walk through an entire hospital, drive myself home, and get dinner on the table and laundry done, surely he can drive himself. Baby. I told him the consequence of me going is that I will photograph him high on Valium, getting snipped, and probably make him go to IKEA with a bag of frozen peas in his pants. I mean, his choice.
So we'll see. If we go option one, they make us do a consultation to make sure we understand the ramifications of this and that's what I'm worried about. Because I know I will cry and they will probably feel sorry for me, and he'll get pissed off because I'm crying and tell them to do it anyways. Because that's how it always is when it comes to stuff. Matt isn't equipped on how to handle it when I'm emotionally upset. Not just angry upset, but when I am legitimately sad about something. He just usually walks away and hopes I figure it out on my own. Which I do. Eventually. It's just hard to feel like your feelings don't actually matter.