The Post Where I Let You Get a Little Intimate With My Ovaries

In the comments of my previous post a couple of readers suggested that I may be pregnant. Well, I'm here to lay those concerns to rest with an emphatic heeeeeellll noooooo. My reproductive plumbing has been capped off. The moment Mr. Farklepants and I learned that my last pregnancy sported a female fetus, and with two boys containing our DNA already running amok in our home, we knew we were done making anymore people even though it is something we do really well.

Quick aside: When I told my mother that I was going for permanent birth control, she...cried. She did her best to talk me out of it using the following arguments: "What if something happens to one of your kids and you want another one?". My rebuttal: "They're not hamsters, Mom, and cannot be replaced". Her follow up: "What if something happens between you and Mr. Farklepants and you meet another man who wants to have children with you?". My rebuttal: "Your faith in my marriage aside, I think if that were to happen, the new pretend husband would be well aware of this before any marriage took place and at my age statistics indicate that he'd already have children of his own AND I DON'T WANT ANY MORE KIDS, capice?" Ahem...

I also would like to go on record as saying that getting your tubes tied? Ain't no big thang. I wanted to have it done right there in the hospital after Girl-Child was born but since it was a Catholic hospital, they do not perform that particular service. [No, we aren't Catholic but ohmygawsh what a fabulous hospital hence our choice to birth all three babies in its glorious labor and delivery suites and there's something about a nun coming by your room to visit you and your new baby that makes you feel like a special snowflake -thank you George Carlin RIP] So three months after her birth, a couple of consultations later and armed with my referral from my doctor, I entered an unassuming red brick building, that on the second Thursday of every month performed tubal ligations [the rest of the days it was simply a women's clinic and on other Thursdays performed other procedures that I'm not fully prepared to debate right now but suffice it to say explains the commonplace architecture as not to draw attention to itself].

It was a veritable we don't want no more babies fortheloveofgod make it stop party up in there. A waiting room full of women, from all walks of life, were called in one by one to disrobe, remove any and all jewelry (I'm looking at you stubborn toe ring), and slip into a fashionable paper ensemble that included a robe, slippers, and a cap. Awesome. We then took our seats in a holding area. We looked like a room full of surgeons at the ready to streak through the operating room as soon as we heard our cue. We were all a bit nervous. Some more than others. It could have been the impending procedure or just simply that it was the first time some of these women had been sitting around naked in front of total strangers with nothing but a thin sheet of paper for cover. Like the spa only with surgical knives, general anesthesia, and resuscitation equipment. Yeah, just like that.

When I finally entered the operating room I was met with what appeared to be a medieval instrument of torture. Alas, it was the table. To be honest, I wasn't quite prepared for the acrobatic position I was going to be put in to make this thing happen -I totally would have stretched first so I wouldn't pull a hammy. I will say that they strap you to it. It tilts back. You're just splayed there. It's kind of an unattractive position but rest assured that you won't care because you'll quickly be completely unconscious. They've got procedures to perform people! No time to make you feel like the queen of England. Leave your demure self at home.

It's laparoscopic surgery. Two eighth of an inch incisions, one above and one below your navel. A little of this, some cauterizing of those, and BADDA BING BADDA BAM! Free to engage in recreational sex at whim. A little mild cramping follows for a day or so but at least I didn't have to sit around with a bag of peas on my crotch or have to have my nuts filleted because just thinking about that makes me wince and I'm not even a dude.