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Wednesday, March 20, 2013

A letter about private parts to my husband.

To my dearest husband,

So you will not have this conversation in person because you stick your fingers in your ears and go all "blah, blah...stop're making my balls hurt thinking about it....blahhhhhhhhhhhhh".
So....... I'm forced to put it on the Internet and let the whole world have this conversation with you.
I can't wait to see you get all squirmy over Easter dinner when my mother brings it up.... Just try to stick your fingers in your ears then....Carl won't tolerate that shiz!

So my dear, it's time for the ol' snip, snip. Remember back almost 11 years when the boy child was born. How perfect he was. Now lets venture a guess how he entered this wonderful world. Picture this...first time epidural....over 2 hours of pushing....blood pressure through the roof (mine, not yours stupid, no one monitors yours while I'm doing ALL the work)....pushed so hard I had 2 black eyes and burst blood vessels in my eyes. Remembering any of this, dear? Over 2 hours of freakin' minuscule chips of ice (while you enjoyed your caffeine ladden Mountain Dew, need I remind you I quit drinking all caffeine (and no alcohol or fun prescriptions for over 9 months))........remember the blown out va-jay-jay? Stitches front to back and internal to repair that mess????
Remember the ol' hee-hee...add a couple extra snitches to my doctor joke (yeah, still not funny....and my female family members are now getting pissed!!)

Shall I fast forward 3+ years to girl child birth when I refused drugs again while birthing??? When I pushed so fast and hard she tore me up? Add a nice amount of stitches again.... My nether regions has had more stitches then a gun shot victim....

So dear husband.......
I'm on my second IUD.......
I'm not going for a third. My body isn't becoming a recycling ground for copper. Copper thieves are not busting down the door to dissect me. It's time for the ol' snip. Get ready I'm making you an appointment. You can deal with a small snip and maybe a tiny stitch. I'll spare any and all jokes of "extra stitches".
It's time.
Prepare. we come!

Your fertile wife, whose alternative is to go all Michelle Duggar and birth kids until they just fall out.

Ps. There's no chore exception while healing. I might have some of those chill/ice pack-maxi pads left. You can wear one of those while you do the dishes.

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