It's been one week since the snippity-snip. Brent is still not feeling "in the mood."

I'm being a selfish jerk, I know. But seriously, rub some dirt on it. Suck it up and satisfy your wife, man!

How many times does this situation occur? Wife wants husband, husband too tired, too stressed, too nervous, too sore. *sigh*

Oh well, keep on truckin'. This too shall pass.

So...I come to Blogstream's homepage and do a double-take on the banner ads at the top of the page.

Vasectomy Reversal! Reverse Your Vasectomy! Vasectomy Reversals!

Holy Shit! I mean, you have got to be kidding me. I expect lightning to strike me next...or the planets to align...or something.

I'm sure it's a very simple explanation. Blogstream probably has some software that picks up certain key words in people's blogs, and then customizes banners on that information.

I guess I've mentioned the word 'vasectomy' several times in the last few days - I shouldn't be shocked.

However, please indulge me as I conduct an experiment.

I really have a problem with my *breasts.* In fact, I would like to get *breast* reduction surgery. However, my (vasectomized) husband says he has no problem with my *breasts*...he says my *breasts* are perfect. But, if that were the case, he would have his face buried in my *breasts* 24/7, would he not? I frankly think he is full of it. I don't doubt he enjoys my *breasts*, when he remembers to visit them. My *breasts* do get lonely...they certainly would enjoy more visitors. By that, I mean my husband, not some skanky cyberperv.

OK, so I'll let you all know how if there truly is some funky software here at Blogstream.

OK, so Brent's vasectomy was this afternoon, and I must say...very interesting stuff. More than once the thought "Sure glad it ain't me" occurred to me, and then I realized Brent probably had those same thoughts back when I was giving birth. So, the score's even.

He's laying in there in the doc's office, in a reclining chair, nekkid from the waist down and I shivered with an eerie sense of deja vu. I felt like I was watching myself get a pap smear...except I had a penis and a lot more body hair. It was all very much a Dali painting.

I always think the pap smear forceps are pretty bad...I mean, there is nothing quite like having your nether regions pried apart by some cold metal wrench-like apparatus. But, then I see my husband laying there, having his nutsack tugged and manhandled (and I do mean MANhandled) by the doctor; his pubic hairs probably snagging here and there, causing additional discomfort. Is it possible that I am feeling a stab of pity? It's very possible.

The doctor then begins, making the small incision to get to the "vas deferens," which, incidentally, reminds me a drinking straw. We have a sew-sew here, a snippity there...and the whole thing is done in about a half-hour. The doctor helps Brent put his underwear on...which seems humiliating to me. I think I'd rather endure the pain to not seem so helpless in front of the medical staff...but then again, they've just had Brent spread-eagled in a most compromising position - and is there any more helpless position than that?

Brent is now in bed, dreaming of spermless ejaculations and ginormous ice packs. The kids are under the "No bouncing, no sudden movements around Dad" rule for the weekend. A stack of freshman essays await my red pen. Sometimes life just doesn't get anymore...life-ish.

So, my youngest son wakes up this morning with his left eye swollen shut. This is the second time that this has happened in the last week and a half. I hurriedly call in for a sub (high school teacher, you know), drop off my other two at the bus stop, rush to my class to get sub plans ready...then it's off the doc.

Of course, doc tells me it's probably a sensitivity to the two mosquito bites on his face. As a mother of three, I'm like DUH because I have no Benedryl in the closet, which I should have given the kid in the first place instead of taking him to the doctor.

After feeling like an incompetent mom, I was faced this morning with a little ethical dilemma. By the time Elliot and I left the doctor, it was 9:00 am. I could still get into work and be there the rest of the day. Also, Elliot COULD really go back to daycare.

Or...

I could enjoy the rest of my "sick" day, run some errands, do some house chores that have been piling up around here...

I'd like to mention here that my husband has been gone since Saturday morning and won't be back till Thursday night on business. So...it's been me, the kids, and our chaotic schedule.

Naturally, I'm sure you'd all like to hear that I returned to work like a dutiful productive citizen. Well, I simply cannot tell you that. :) Elliot and I sported around town a bit, doing this and that. We are now convalescing at home, relaxing and enjoying each other's company.

I will just chalk this day up to a "mental health" day.

Cheers!

I have not been giving too much serious thought...been too much engaged in ribbing my husband about his upcoming vasectomy (this Friday).

However, it seems to hit me today as I sit in church, watching the four-month-old son of another church patron...and it occurs to me that I am about to be finished with a certain portion of motherhood.

Most likely, I am done being pregnant and having children.

Despite our family's crazy schedule, I am saddened. This. Is. It. My youngest just turned two, and now when I put away his outgrown clothes, I have to think about taking them somewhere. There is no point in keeping them for "the next one."

So, anyway, I'm supposed to be sad. I know I'm not unusual in that way. I'm just not prepared for the finality of it. However, deep down I know we're done. We're ready to move on to that next stage. We've got so many plans and things we want to do - the kids are finally getting to the age where we feel comfortable doing those things.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger. I know.