Today being the all-powerful Valentines Day, one would assume that the "V" to which I am referring is this lovey-dovey holiday that makes some of us feel a whee bit lacking in the romance department. Don't get me wrong, I hate this holiday as much as the next holiday grinch. Just because I'm married doesn't mean that I greet this holiday with vigor. Nope! I actually kind of abhor this commercially pushed holiday. I can't even remember a VD, whether single or married, that a romantic gesture was wafted in my direction. If I sound bitter...well, maybe it's because I am.
But this sorry excuse for a "holiday" is not the "V" with which I am enamored. Now if anyone has read my blog for long, I'm sure you are assuming the next most logical "V" would be the almighty and powerful vagina. Yes...she is that indeed, but Captain Vagina has taken a hiatus; what with all the changes, stress, uncertainty, sleep deprivation, lack of showering and no-me-time-at-all that has become my existence, she packed her bags and has yet to return to Sexy Town. If I've said it once, I've said it numerous times...the vagina needs to be wooed, lured, and taken care of otherwise she closes up shop. And just in case any of you are wondering a spinal cord injury plus muscle relaxers do not equate to very effective aphrodisiacs!
No! The "V" that gets my motor running is none other than the long avoided (but very necessary!) VASECTOMY! Ah...even saying the word makes me smile...it even conjures up an ever-so-slight, yet ever-so-evil, giggle. Yep...Lt Hubby was forced to take one for the team. It's only fair...my "wonder down under" has taken five massive blows. Not one of the dudes that came shooting out of that sacred tunnel was under 8 pounds. And each and every delivery has lended itself to a new set of eyes (and hands) investigating what can no longer be referred to as "My Secrets". There is no secret left when your legs are in stirrups and you lie spread-eagle on a less-than-romantic hospital table all the while a gigantic spotlight is aimed directly up my nether regions while God and nation watch you take (what can only be described as) a dump on the table!
Yep...I've earned the right to bow out and ask for a pinch hitter. And I have very, very little sympathy...OK, I have NO sympathy (did you not just read the previous paragraph?!) This mama is Our Of Business! No more dudes for this vagina...she's seen her last torture- I mean- delivery room (thank GOD!). So with admittance to the carnival denied until his ticket is stamped, Lt Hubby reluctantly took the fall...in a military hospital, no less. From my experience, military doctors have a very impersonal bed-side manner. I think they are somewhat desensitized to compassion (good thing it wasn't my vagina!). But...what's done is done...and WE ARE DONE!
So department stores can keep their box of chocolates; the flower shop can keep her beautiful roses; and the lingerie boutique can keep her little black teddy (it only gets me into trouble anyway). We will toast the night with ice for my hubby...and wine (followed by sleep!!) for me.