A common conversation in our home lately is vasectomy. Originally, when we decided we would have kids, we were going to have two. That was when I thought pregnancy and motherhood would be hard, but not impossible. I really did’t think I had on rose colored glasses about it. Before I got pregnant, my husband and I had two fights total. By the time my son was three months old, my husband and I had separated over all the mood swings and issues. My glasses had been rosier than I thought. A second child really be a disaster to everyone. It would send me on a spiral, my husband would probably leave, and my son would suffer for it. I’m sad about it, but some stuff I just have to accept even if it’s shitty. Such is my life.
I’m really awful with decisions. Like, laughably awful. As in, when we went to marriage counseling and the form asked if I had trouble making decisions I asked my husband. This was not a joke. I really couldn’t decide. Partly because if I’m hypomanic suddenly I make lots of decisions rapid fire. Mostly dumb ones, but they get made. Any other time, it takes me very lengthy periods to make decisions about every little thing. What do I want to eat today? At least fifteen or twenty minutes to decide this and usually after I decide, I question if I wouldn’t have liked something else better the whole time I’m eating and a while after. What am I wearing tomorrow? I’ll be thinking about that randomly throughout the day today if I want to be able to get out the house on time. That’s just little dumb stuff that doesn’t even really impact my life. If it has some impact, I’ll obsessively research for weeks or months and go back and forth before making a choice which I then again question for weeks or months. It’s freaking exhausting. I have no idea why I do this. I just do. When I try to force a faster choice, the amount of time I second guess it triples. Sometimes I’ll second guess it forever.
So, because I can’t even decide between peanut butter and jelly or soup, making a permanent choice not to have another kid, even though I know it’s the right choice, kinda makes me feel like I’m gonna have a panic attack. We agreed that I would get the Mirena for five years and look at something more permanent at that point. Well, my body decided it didn’t like Mirena about six months or so ago. Bad cramps, couldn’t have sex, general awful. I ran as many tests as possible to try to find something else wrong because I didn’t wanna give up my Mirena, but alas, it had to go. Most of the issues (aside from my fear of painful sex which is just my crazyness) have cleared up. But now, we have to discuss birth control again. I have some implant thing on order, but at least once a week I hear the word “vasectomy.”
Last night, before we went to bed around 1:00am, I said something about being pissed it was now 2011 and my birth control hadn’t come in yet. Stupid me. I can feel my mood becoming more normal every day, but I’m not totally there yet. And last night, with a bit of the hypomanic rush still in my brain, my mind said “fuck it, set the damn appointment.” Luckily, unlike mentioning being pissed about the birth control, my mind to mouth filter worked this time and I did not say it. But now I’m wondering – was it a real decision or a decision made out of hypomanic energy?
The problem isn’t wanting another kid. I’m happy with one and I don’t think I can’t handle more than one. Hell, lots of days I can’t handle one. But my mind thinks in doom and gloom a lot and part of me always thinks something bad will happen to my son. Because, you see, I’m awful and undeserving of him. I don’t feel that way so much right at this very second, but I remember there have been months at a time where I had to always feel his heart beat, always feel his breath because I just knew knew knew that the greater scheme of things wouldn’t let someone that’s done as many awful things as me be allowed something so amazing. That he would be taken from me because that’s just my life. There’s a lot of times I really think I’m an awful person and awful people shouldn’t have great kids. Again, I don’t feel so crappy right now, but the underlying “something will happen” thought doesn’t seem to go away. Sometimes it’s the only thought I seem to have, and sometimes it’s like a whisper in the back of my mind. But it’s always there.
And if something did happen, then what? Would my mind change? Would I endure pregnancy again in that case? Logically, this would probably be awful. I’ve seen people on TV that were the “replacement” kids and the grieving parent always wants kid two to be kid one and, of course, they aren’t. I’d probably do that. I’d probably keep his room the same or be like one of the crazies on Intervention that talks like the child is still there (“shhh the baby is sleeping!”). I dunno. I’d probably have a psychotic break and really at that point having a baby would be downright dumb. And possibly deadly.
But maybe I wouldn’t lose it (haha). I mean, I don’t see that happening, but maybe something awful could happen and I’d be okay. You know, okay for me, not okay in general. Then what? Then I’m okay and childless and miserable and then I have a psychotic break anyway. All roads point to disaster.
There’s really a lot of pressure on my son to stay well and he doesn’t even know it. I hope I get over that as he gets older because I’d hate for him to break a leg or something at eight and instead of mommy holding his hand and telling him it’ll be okay, she’s in a fetal position crying. For the record, he did get really sick when he was a few weeks old and I held it together when I was holding him and as soon as someone else held him or he was in his crib I went in another room and lost it. So I guess that’s what I’d do. I’ve gotten pretty decent at “fake it till you find a bathroom” sanity.
Anyway, making this choice isn’t how I wanted to start 2011. I’m totally pissed at my husband for bringing it up. Even though it’s the right choice. Even though I’ve been stalling it for two years. And I’m even more pissed that right now I want to say okay and I can’t figure out if I’m saying okay or my crazy is. It’s not like if we do it and I realize I wasn’t okay with it we get to change our mind. That’s the problem with permanent decisions. The whole permanent part.