I Had No Idea
You’ve seen them so many times they’ve become an element of the archetypal man. I refer, of course, to the Guy Who’s Not Ready For (Possibly) A(nother) Baby But Doesn’t Know If His Chick Is Pregnant. You see them impatiently rapping against the wall outside the bathroom, with that telltale tinkling-onto-plastic emanating from behind the door. Generally, they’re young guys, but that’s not necessary (Bob Dole says so). Generally, they’re otherwise untethered to anyone or anything, but, again, maybe this is lovelyChild v 8.0 or something. Generally, I’ve found it difficult to identify with the Guy Who’s[…]. That is, until I found myself rapping against the wall outside our soon-to-be-ex-bathroom listening to that telltale tinkling-on-plastic.
A few months ago, I had a vasectomy. Of all the times that I’ve seen small billows of white smoke rise from my genitalia, that was undoubtedly the most recent. Through that experience I came to appreciate a well-positioned ice pack and a good pair of thin cotton casual pants. Actually, now that I think about it, I didn’t really where pants that much, so I guess what I’m saying here is that I came to appreciate a living arrangement conducive to hobbling around holding a plastic block of frozen gel against my scantily-clad nethers. That’s what I’m really saying here.
Wait…okay, that’s right: the whole vasectomy angle relates to the fact that the odds should’ve been in favor of no new baby, yet we were anxious to find this out with some certainty. I might’ve followed the pace of the people and taken to litigation if we were expecting—no, no I wouldn’t've. As a matter of fact, that would be obscene, so forget I wrote it.
Anyway, so, well, I finally found some purchase in that image of the impatient man caught wondering what the next 18 years and nine months might be like, and for the first time I was worried. I have children, and I love children, and I was quite surprised, years ago, to find that out; but a variety of things have found me on the path of wanting no more children at the moment. Really, she couldn’t constrict her bladder quickly enough.
In the end, we’d find out quite colorfully that we have all the children we’re due to have for at least a little while. It was a great relief, in a guilty, selfish kind of way. I’m not ashamed of that, though, and came to an appreciation of a facet of humanity I’d dismissed as a weak plot element. Win–win.
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