I just had the best birthday of my life. 

My birthday is on December 26th, which is kind of a crappy day to be born. No one, including me, feels like doing anything or eating anything. But since it’s my birthday we all feel compelled to CELEBRATE! even though everyone is bloated and exhausted from the previous day’s events. By this point in my life I have accepted the way things are and honestly as long as I have a cake that no one feels like eating, I’m happy. 

Cake.

The reason why I have to have a cake is because my mother was always very sensitive about separating my birthday from Christmas and she always made sure I had a birthday cake. No matter where we were, I had cake. We traveled all over the place when I was growing up: I turned 6 in Gaitlinburg, 13 in San Antonio, 16 in New York City. And my mother always made sure I had cake. Now that I have a family of my own, she has started calling Husband and making sure one of them is going to make me one. I don’t know if he realizes how sad I would be if I didn’t have a cake. I think there may have been a few birthdays since we got married that I didn’t have one, and I have pretty much just blocked them out.

Turning 34.

I do not care about turning 34. It’s not a milestone birthday and I feel young so it doesn’t bother me that I’m officially, I suppose, in my “mid-thirties.” Bring it. I love being in my 30’s. I have found this time in my life to be extremely liberating. Over time I have learned how to unapologetically embrace all the things and the people that truly make me happy.

This year, I really don’t know what got into everyone, but it was amazing. I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD TALK IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE IT WAS SO AWESOME. ON CHRISTMAS EVE (okay, I’ll stop talking in all caps only because it’s hard to read, not because what I am about to tell you isn’t superbly exciting), Husband surprised me with a very thoughtful card that I plan to laminate and look at when he starts to piss me off. It basically said I am so amazing that nothing he saw in the stores was good enough. Well, I won’t argue with him there, unless he went to Tiffany, in which case I would think he could manage to find something that would work. 

Anyway, what he wanted to give me was time. Time to myself and time to relax.

Then he explained that he got his mom to take the kids for the entire day (bless her heart … wait, no, that deserves all caps … BLESS HER HEART) and he was sending me to a spa for six hours while a cleaning crew deep-cleaned my house. 

Wait, What?

I remember him talking and my mouth falling open at the “all day with no kids” part, and then when he said I was going to the spa for six hours, roughly the same number of hours I sleep at night, I think I went into some kind of shock, and then the thing about the cleaning service just sent me over the edge … which is when I started this weird medley of laughing and crying. He also gave me a nice bottle of wine in my stocking, bringing me to the conclusion that I pretty much won Christmas.

My parents delivered a homemade cake to me on the morning of my birthday. I got a new hat. I breakfasted with an old friend. I had a few mimosas and a lady named Olga scrubbed my whole body with exfoliant. I could go ON AND ON, BECAUSE OMG IT WAS SO LUXURIOUS AND AMAZING AND THEN I CAME HOME TO A HOUSE THAT HAS NEVER BEEN CLEANER. EVER. 

Documentation. 

When I worked for State Farm as a claims adjuster we always asked for “documentation” to prove that an event actually happened. So … here’s mine.

New hat + my kids.

A king cake really can fix a lot of problems. Really. This is me with my dear old friend Kari.

Bliss.

My fingernails are painted. That NEVER HAPPENS.

In Conclusion … 

I wrote this so I can remember The Day That Rocked.

We’re not a super mushy couple, but Husband is absolutely the air that I breathe. Not just because he did this for me, but because he just knew what I needed. All of the times that I feel like he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t understand my feelings … well, he doesn’t. Not really. But when it comes down to it, he knows me better than I know myself sometimes. 

Also, after 10 years of holidays together, he has learned not to say a word about my hot pink tights.

This week Husband and I had a fight, or really I guess I freaked out on him and then we had a fight. Later on, he went to the store to get butter so I could make some banana bread and he was gone for so long I was SURE he was buying me flowers — because that is what I really want and need when I get angry. Flowers, and a sincere apology (which does not need to be an admittance of wrongdoing, it can just be a “I’m so sorry you’re upset.”)

And yes, I know flowers are stupid because they die after a few days. At least that’s the rationale I always hear from men, that flowers are dumb because they die. Well, they aren’t dumb. You’re dumb for not buying them, DUMMY. Don’t fight the system that has been in place for centuries. Just buy the damn flowers, and know that if you bring home a lottery scratch-off instead … NOTHING GOOD WILL HAPPEN.

I would say that I should write a self-help book one day for men who are unsure how to handle the women in their lives, but that would be pointless and I think we all know why.  

The same men who think flowers are dumb also do not read self-help books.

Asher seems convinced that his full name is Asher Cutiepie. The conversation went like this:

Me: Asher, what’s your last name?

Asher: Asher Cutiepie.

Me: Noooo, Asher HOBBS. Asher, what’s your name?

Asher: Asher Cutiepie.

Me: No, Asher HOBBS.

Asher: Mommy Cutiepie, Daddy Cutiepie, Pepper Cutiepie, Maverick Cutiepie, ASHER CUTIEPIE.

Me: Okay, then. Another day.

—

Husband started working out this week, which is a whole other post in itself, but I just want to say how thrilled I am that he is finally taking charge of his health. I’ve never known him to exercise on purpose. This is a whole new thing happening here. He actually came home this morning and asked me if I’d like to take a yoga class with him. 

I’ll let that sink in for a minute.

UM, YES I WOULD LIKE TO DO YOGA WITH YOU. This is literally one of my wildest dreams, coming true. I felt like I was being punk’d, but I didn’t want to seem too shocked or he might get weirded out and take it back.

It’s kind of like how yesterday I hauled Maverick (with the baby in tow) all the way up to the allergist’s office for his standing 8:30 appointment, only to be informed that they tried to call — the doctor wasn’t there, and we’d have to reschedule. I immediately checked into my safe place so I didn’t lose my schmidt right there in the waiting room, and when I asked Maverick to get up because he wasn’t getting an allergy shot today he exclaimed “TODAY IS MY LUCKY DAY! I made a wish and it CAME TRUE!” He spent the whole walk back to the car chattering about how his wishes NEVER come true and wow, what a lucky boy he was. 

So this concept of my husband coming home from an early-morning workout and asking me if I want to go to yoga with him? Granted wish. Maybe after the class we can go to Starbucks and talk about our feelings. Now that sounds like the perfect day …

It’s taking Husband twice as long to recover from his vasectomy as it took for me to be up and functioning after pushing a baby out of my vagina on two different occasions. I hope I’m not putting voodoo on myself by making this comparison, but we are now on day 5 and he is still in pretty significant pain. I feel really bad for him, but I am also perplexed.

It leads me to wonder, is his tolerance for pain lower than mine? Did his urologist botch his procedure somehow? Am I married to a wimp, or is he truly in pain? I wish there was a way to compare what he currently going through to the monthly misery of menstrual cramps. I would be interested to know if my tolerance level has been built up simply because I’m female. I would also be interested to know what kind of damage has been done to my liver after years and years of popping painkillers for several days out of the month.

Most women are able to soldier on with life, compartmentalizing their pain or discomfort most of the time. I am grateful for this ability, but I kind of feel like it would be better for everyone if men could have just a taste of what we deal with on a regular basis. Then, they might understand why it’s hard for the women in their lives to baby them when they are sick. I’m not much of a baby-er anyway … I think I have a hard heart.

But you know … I do have a low tolerance for certain kinds of pain or discomfort. I’m planning to have a natural, unmedicated birth again — but I don’t intend to breastfeed. When Husband learned this, he said, “Wait, you aren’t even going to TRY?” Um, NO. And if you were the one having to do these things, HUSBAND, you wouldn’t want to either.

I hesitate to call men “babies,” because they are supposed to be the stronger sex. And they are, in some ways — but not in all. I just try to remind myself that there are a lot of things I can’t handle. Like breastfeeding and putting meat down the garbage disposal. So while I do pat myself on the back for being one strong ass woman, I simultaneously thank my Husband for being willing to back our van out of the driveway for me so I won’t hit the neighbor’s fence … again.

My nemesis.

Today was V-Day. 

Vasectomy, that is. We are now permanently in control of birth. Which seems surreal, after so many years of careful pill-taking and such. Now we can have all the sex we want and not have to worry! Except … we have small children in the house … so … no. Not really. But at least we know we won’t be adding to that number of small children.

 Some people don’t understand why we would choose to sever the baby line before Pepper’s arrival, but the fact of the matter is that we are just SO DONE with making babies. Even if down the road we wanted another one, would it really be the best decision for us? No. Making our family has been hard on our marriage, frankly. We are both ready to close that chapter to focus on raising our three children, and enjoying the rest of our lives.

Having babies is no picnic. It’s hard work, like running a marathon. But we do it because it’s also exhilarating and magical and AMAZING. And it’s not constant hard work. There are breaks between the impossibly difficult parts that are so full of joy I can’t even put it into words. I’ve tried. Nothing is quite right.

So now that I know I am officially closing this baby factory down, I’m excited. I very much look forward to a few years from now when my body has fully recovered, I have a gym membership again, all of my children know how to use the bathroom by themselves, and we have rebuilt our social life. Husband and I agree that our best years lie ahead of us.

Today’s step towards our future was the snip-snip. Dun dun dun.

We decided months ago that this would be our last child, and I flat-out said I won’t be going back on birth control because I am fairly certain it makes me crazy. So, Husband made an appointment for a physical with a new doctor and said he would ask her for a referral to a urologist while he was there. The appointment ended up taking months to schedule, and when he finally went he learned that he had three doctors to choose from: two men … and one woman.

Husband is funny. He really wanted a man doctor. Like, REALLY. Not like, “I would prefer a male doctor.” I mean like, “No way in hell do I want a female cutting on my balls, that is horrifying and I won’t do it.” Alas, the male doctors didn’t have openings until June and July. Clearly I will need Husband up and walking around to help with our three kids for the entire summer and the idea of him being out of commission after the baby is born was just out of the question. So.

He scheduled a consultation with the female doctor. 

Meanwhile, my parents offered to take the boys on Memorial Day weekend, so Husband and I could have time alone together before the baby is born. A babymoon! Wow, a whole weekend to ourselves. That hasn’t happened in a long time! We were really looking forward to it. 

Until, that is, Husband scheduled his vasectomy for that very weekend.

Also, when he arrived for his consultation he realized that he went to middle school with his female urologist. So his worst nightmare was coming true: a girl he grew up with was going to cut open his scrotum with a tiny knife. He texted me, “It’s pretty awkward to catch up with someone and then they tell you to drop your pants.”

I bet so. But don’t pretend that’s never happened before.

A few days ago I looked her up and discovered she’s a very pretty girl. We were watching TV when I blurted out, “I looked up Dr. Schmeeckle and she’s not ugly!!” And he just looked at me with a look that let me know that he was already aware of this and it was probably adding to his mortification.

I feel like a terrible wife, because he was unhappy that he knew his urologist, and he was also super nervous about the procedure, and I wanted to be kind to him. But I have troubles of my own. There is a person in my abdomen who feels like she is beating me to death, and my morning sickness has returned. So I tried really hard to be supportive, but basically the poor man was on his own. His dad took him to his appointment this morning, and I tried not to think about what was happening.

A few hours later he returned, high as a kite, and announced “I couldn’t go through with it. I chickened out.” Which was clearly a lie because he was walking like … well. You know.

Then, he proceeded to pull one of those sterile cups out of a bag, the kind of cup that you pee in at the doctor’s office, and explained in front of our children and his father what it needed to be used for later … like once he has recovered, later. All the while he was waving that cup in the air … and then he said, “YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO HELP ME WITH THAT!” before I took it away and put it back in the bag and suggested that he go lie down.

Spending our “babymoon” this way was not what I had in mind. 

I just got the funniest card in the mail. I plan to keep it handy, because I can think of about a million uses for it. For example, the next time Husband makes me angry, I will send him a wordless text message containing this picture:

And he will know his fate.