So, he got the snip. It went well, no complications. He is resting now in bed. Where he has been for the last six hours. I mean, honestly, I NEVER got six hours to myself to recuperate, not even when I had three kids and four miscarriages (not all at the same time, mind you. But still- it wasn't no picnic in the park). Basically, he just dropped me off at home, kissed me on the cheek with a clipped "Love you. And don't forget to get me that shaving cream I need when you're out and about today." A bit different than his leisurely day in bed. I went out and got him BK for breakfast, gave it to him in bed. I go in there every four hours to give him his Tylenol and reposition his peas. I've kept the kids quiet and have only let them go in there when he's awake. I've taken them out for part of the day. I'm cooking his dinner and serving it to him in bed. I've been liberally retopping his Pepsi. I ask him what he needs. And he's always laying there, pathetic and miserable like, moaning and groaning. It's not that I don't feel bad for him... because, of coure, I do. But... I hope this doesn't doesn't sound to weird... but I think that I'm actually jealous of him. I'm thinking "surgery's looking pretty freaking good right about now." I could do with a day lying my ass in bed all day getting served croissantwiches and codeine. But then, of course, if I'd have had surgery, things would be different, now wouldn't they? I would be in bed, all right, with all three kids because Geoff is trying to watch Football on the big screen.
Anyways, the dream of the twins is not totally dead. We were informed this morning that it would take 20 ejaculations before the spermies were out of his system. According to my calculations that could take us 2 years or more. Sadly, I'm not even joking about that. I think since Lex has been born we've "been intimate" about half a dozen times. And those 6 times all together probably accounted for less than five minutes of my life. I'm hardly complaining about that, though. These days I'm so tired and exhausted- I can't even take the time to brush my teeth. The last thing I would want is a night of passionate love making. Usually I approach the subject the same way I would approach getting a booster shot. "I know I'm due for this now, so I'll just look away and it will all be over before I even know it." I guess that's bad to say it that way, but when I go to bed at night the only thing I want to do is watch Seifeld reruns (I never get sick of that show). If this is my sexual prime than I'm in big trouble down the line.
But we'll worry about that later.
Not only has my husband been driving me crazy, the children are also wearing me down. Honest to God, you cannot say or do ANYTHING without a full out interrogation. I put a package in the microwave and this is suddenly the most interesting thing. "What are you doing, mom?" "I'm putting chicken in the microwave" - you wouldn't think you would have to state the obvious- but you do. And then they're like "Why?' "Because we're having chicken for supper"
I go to the bathroom. I'm out of the room for two minutes and they're all over me like hounds. "Where did you go?"
"To the bathroom"
"Because I had to go the bathroom" (stating the obvious)
"Poop or pee?"
I mean there is NO privacy in this house. NONE.
Even last night I was changing the sheets on my bed and Gage (11) came in my room and asked what I was doing. "Changing the sheets" I replied. He's like "I hate to even ask... but why?" I was like "It's not what you think- the cat puked on here" but thinking about it later I should have told him something else- something that might make him reconsider sticking his nose in his parents bedroom.
A thousand inane conversations like this all day every day and you start to answer the questions in a shrill, high pitched voice. And then the kids go "Holy mom, settle down. We can't even ask you a question." And even Geoff is no better. He's like "Testy today? That time of the month?" And then that's supposed to be a joke, I guess, but of course, I don't laugh and only offer a dirty look in response, and then Geoff's like "I'll take that as a yes."
Sometimes you feel like just popping them one square in the freaking jaw.
But I have good coping mechanisms and a good support system.
The Chardonnay I keep in the fridge.