There’s no gentle way of saying this, my husband got the chop. The Big V. He got fixed. It was quick, it was painless (for me), but it did keep me on my toes for a couple of days pandering to his desires. By desires I mean cutting his toast into triangles and making sure he had access to frozen peas at all times. As he put it, on his second day of bed rest and my second day of dealing with three children and bringing him chocolate and hot cups of tea: “I am having the best day ever”.
On the day of the operation, I felt strangely remorseful. A whole stage of our lives was about to come to an end – our baby making stage. We’ve got three gorgeous girls. We’ve had our fair share of babies and we’re ready to move on to the next stage, but still I felt sadness. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself when he was getting his operation, so I went and got a milkshake. In hindsight, it wasn’t really fitting. I should have gone to the pub and knocked back a couple of tequilas.
As I walked along sucking on my chocolate milk, trying not to gag every time I thought about what the doctor was doing, I reminisced about what an amazing time of life having babies is. No words can describe the amazement of looking into the eyes of your newborn child. The instant connection. The overwhelming feelings of responsibility. The love.
My husband was the one who initiated discussions on getting the chop. It was a discussion he had to initiate, it’s his body. I was relieved. I knew my body and my sanity couldn’t do any more children. I knew we had made our family and were “done”. I knew together we were making the right decision for us as individuals, as a couple and as a family. I knew we were ready to put our focus into growing together as a family, not continuing to grow the family. And anyway, we can’t afford a new car, nor can we fit anymore beds in our house.
Yet, still I can’t help but feel pangs of longing each time we drive past the hospital our children were born or touching my heart whenever I see a squishy baby or crying when I see the damn Huggies’ ads. It’s strange knowing there’ll be no more pregnancy tests or listening to tiny heart beats or marvelling at scans or changing teeny, tiny nappies. It’s strange thinking that’s all over. We now have different challenges to face, new beginnings to look forward to, like school and sleepovers.
I suppose what it really gets down to is, I can’t help feeling old. I can’t help feeling that my life is rushing by too fast. I need it to slow down a bit. I’m not ready for it to pass me by.
Is your family complete? Do you feel like you’re getting old? Or do I only feel old because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in five years?