Who's baking in there?

So, February was not, apparently. blog worthy. You would think I would get all sentimental, like I did before Lily was born, but not so much.  I am not sure if  we are in denial or if we are so used to cranking out kids that it feels normal.  I know Jill is WAY uncomfortable and probably averages about 3.6 minutes of sleep a night, which means I average about 4.0, so we’ll be full-on prepared for the imminent sleep deprivation.  Whereas previous pregnancies had me anxious about another arrival, now I am just ready to meet Fin.  My guess is Fin has a strong personality based on Fin’s (I have to keep using the name “Fin” to remain gender unspecific) insistence on coming to the party, regardless of whether we had set a place at the table.   I am ready for Jill to not be pregnant.  I am ready to complete the family, and move forward.

On the news front, I have finally scheduled my consultation to be neutered.  My nervousness level about the clipping is at an all time high, and when I am nervous I joke around or eat.  Or both.  So, with a mouth fill of rice crackers, here is how the phone call went:

Receptionist:  “Hello, Dr. Shandera’s office.”

Me:  “Yes, I would like to have my Vas Deferrens cauterized.”

(A good 10 seconds of increasingly uncomfortable silence)

Receptionist: (with irritation where I was hoping there was good natured humor) “So, you want a vasectomy?”

Me: (with the realization that joking around with the people that are soon to have a backstage pass to my manhood is probably not such a great idea) “Um, yes.”

As a result, I now have added the idea of the doctor intentionally causing me pain during a procedure that already makes me cross my legs and start joking and eating like I was the headliner at an All You Can Eat Comedy Buffet (Tip:  Try the veal!). The consult is  scheduled for the week after next.  I am going to ask the doctor if, instead of just scheduling the appointment like normal people do, I can pay extra to have him pick a date without telling me, hire some men who will pull up next to me in a van, jump out, chloroform me, and then rush me to the hospital where the doctor can perform the snipperoo.  That way, I have no idea when it’s coming, and by the time  I realize it’s time, I just wake up less potent.  It’s a bit involved, but I am afraid if I am conscious for the whole thing I will do one or all of the following:

  1. Cry uncontrollably. And I mean in a Wow-Grown-Men-Shouldn’t-Cry-Like-That way.
  2. Shake so bad that I cause the doctor to give me eunuch status.
  3. Scream like I am surrounded by a pack of brain-eating (are there another kind?) zombies.

Most people that I am around agree that the less consciousness I have, the more happiness we all have.  I think it applies doubly in this situation.

Lastly, I am off to Palm Springs, CA next week.  Yup, the week before Fin is due on the scene, I will be on the opposite coast.  Now, before you fill the comments up with what a super-huge doodoo head I am, Jill agreed to this trip.  If she goes into labor next week, then we’ll have a great story to tell the divorce attorneys.  HA!  I kid.  I kid because I love.   I am mildly worried that Fin will be convinced the delivering doctor is his father and Jill will hold Palm Springs over my head for the rest of our natural lives.  However, Jill has never been early and she isn’t due until the 28th and shut up I want to go to Palm Springs.  Plus, I have instructed Logan on what to do in my stead.  I think it would go something like this:


Logan:  (holding a fist full of pencils) “Do they have a sharpener in this room?  Why are you going to kill Daddy?  He wants you breathe, which is silly because if you don’t you’ll die.  He also wants you to focus.  Daddy is SOOO silly!  You’re not a camera.  Seriously, where’s the pencil sharpener?”

Jill:  “Screw it!  Give me the drugs!  STAT!  I hereby renounce all hippie ways!  Logan, if Daddy calls, tell him he is getting an in-home vasectomy!”

I just hope I get home before her drugs wear off and I can convince her that she thought I was Logan the whole time.   Ugh, I am starting to freak out…someone pass the chips…