Life Lessons Learned In My House

I warn you, you might think I'm a horrible mother when you are done with this.

A while back I had the birds and the bees talk with Monkey girl. It all ended with her being totally satisfied that she could just have a "shot" to get pregnant when she finally decided to and that whole pesky "sex" thing was unneccessary.

You might call that dilusional on her part, I call it success on mine.

Whatever.

Something I haven't told you all is that this week has found me in a plethora of interesting situations and conversations. And all because of one procedure that took place last Friday afternoon.

This week I have been cutting up t-shirts for soft, cottony panels of comforting goodness to sew into atheletic supporters that I actually carried in my purse for a day. I have been inspecting testicles for popped stitches and observing the 800 stages and color variations of bruising.

Do you have a clue? I'm sure you do.

My man did the deed. He went and got a vasectomy last Friday afternoon.

Let's take a moment to applaud him for his aggressive birth control efforts and for saving me from doing the more invasive version on myself.

I love you sugar, get better, like NOW!

Anyway. His stride has been that of a cowhand after riding the range for 10-days. It's wide. His stride is wide and uncomfortable to watch.

I owe him pretty much the biggest apology in the entire world too. You see, this past weekend I was a cranky ass bitch. I was irritable, tired and full-on PMSing. My son didn't let me have more than 4-5 hours of sleep each night and absolutely none of this is a valid excuse for being a jerk.

I heard all these stories of men playing softball the same day or even worse. All the men said they were fine and they were running around the block, saving lives and fighting wars within 24-hours.

And they are all bald-faced liars.

My husband was not doing any of those things and I didn't know why. He looked so uncomfortable and I thought for sure it was just like when he has a cold. He was just moody and being baby because he didn't feel good.

And then? I felt that damned jock strap and I'm sorry but if I had to wear that rough-ass material on my pooter after getting stiched up after having my kids, I'd be pretty frikking miserable too.

Which brings me to the conversation that happened last night.

Jason tells me that he explained to Monkey about the procedure and it went something like this (and please note that she asked):

Jason: Well hon, you know Crazyman's peanuts, right?
Monkey: Yeah
J: Well they cut into each one of my peanuts with a scalpel and then stitched me up with needle and thread.

Even just during the recount portion of this conversation, Monkey's face was frightening. She looked like she might be sick.
Looking at her face I chuckled. She looked at me with the "Is that true face".

Me: Nice, Jason.. Oh well let's do this, Yes, Monk, it's true that's what they did. They stitched up his no-no place.
Monk: Pained expression still
Me: Oh yeah, and do you know that when I had you kids they stitched up my no-no parts too.
Jason: That's right.
Me: You remember where babies come from, right?
Monk pats her tummy.
Me: Um, no.
Jason: No, they come out of your no-no hole. Don't forget that.

Great. We just went beyond pre-marital sex prevention and into "needs a therapist, will NEVER give me grandkids". Fantastic.

Of course when she found out that Jason can't have babies anymore she asked if that means we won't be, you know, doing all that stuff anymore?

Jason: What stuff? You mean S-E-X?
Monkey: Nods head emphatically and says " you know, like naked stuff."

Jason just laughed and left me to explain.

Sigh.