A few days ago there was a Facebook post that went viral from a woman who was throwing her husband a vasectomy party. Kimberly thew her husband Jason Hemperly a “Balls Voyage” celebration for his up-coming “snip-snip” as a funny joke with a t-shirt that said “retired swimmers” and a cake that said “snip-snap.” It was all hilarious but I need to be honest with you, there was something in me that was slightly annoyed. I read the comments in this article and identified with many of the feelings readers had of how ridiculous this was and that this dude (or any dude) didn’t deserve a celebration. What they should get is an ice pack.
I mean, I have experienced three full-term pregnancies puking my guts out and then had to push them out of a small hole. I tore terribly which resulted in the first postpartum poop situation and STILL had to breastfeed every two hours. My postpartum recovery included taking care of a tiny human that cried non-stop, sore and bleeding nipples that were nursed on regardless of my pain, and no sleep for…well…still not sleeping.
What my recovery didn’t result in was me laying in bed being catered to while playing X-Box and a eating cake that said “way to push out a kid.”
I have thought it would be hilarious once my husband does get snipped to bring in a self-timed baby doll that cries and needs to be rocked every few hours during his recovery. Or bring him the breast pump and let that just suck his nipples raw every few hours along with a crying sound ambiance.
Am I bitter much?
Yup. Apparently, I am. Otherwise, this rage wouldn’t have ensued while seeing this Facebook post and every time my husband asks to schedule his vasectomy during March Madness.
But why? Why am I so annoyed by the thought of my husband getting an ounce of special treatment for his vasectomy?
I mean, I wasn’t treated bad after giving birth in any way. My husband helped out as much as he could. He went to Target three times in a row right when we arrived home from the hospital with our first child because there was so much we didn’t know we needed. He changed the diapers most of the time. He got up and brought the baby to me to nurse every few hours. He unfortunately doesn’t have boobs. I honestly really wish he did. When I was finished nursing, he would rock the babies back to sleep 50% of the time. He cooked me dinner. He let me sleep as much as possible. He was a really supportive friend that just so happens to be my husband. I even got a few push gifts out of the whole ordeal that weren’t my children. Score.
So, why am I annoyed?
I think it’s because I’m a jerk.
There, I said it. I’m a freaking jerk.
Having a vasectomy and giving birth are two wildly different things. Yes, they both involve the obvious, your sacred baby producing parts, but it’s still different. My husband was all in when I had our babies. He was getting almost as much sleep as I was. In-fact, I slept for 3 hours after each baby was born while he stayed up rocking them. He was nearly as exhausted as I was after each birth because he was in it as much as he could be with me.
No, he didn’t have the tears and stretch marks as I did, but I know that he would have done it for me if it were humanly possible because he loves me.
I know that if the roles were reversed, he would be just as supportive. I know that if the roles were reversed, he would have bought me that cake. He would have thrown a party. He would buy that X-Box so that I could brain out. He would schedule it during March Madness if I asked even though I would never ask because I am not a basketball fan.
The point is, we are both on the same team. This isn’t a competition of who’s baby-making parts hurt worse after surgery. We ALL know women have it MUCH worse. Haha..but seriously (serrriiiooouuusssslllyyyy). Let’s not do the comparison game here because it’s not the same adventure.
I would take care of my husband if he had any surgery and was in pain and he would do the same for me because we are on the same team.
Also, being that we are on the same team, he knows that my body has gone through enough voluntary trauma and it’s now his turn.
Now we just have to schedule his snip-snip. And—maybe he’ll even get that celebratory cake after all.
And I swear that if we do get pregnant between now and his vasectomy, he is going to have to teach his body to breastfeed because this body is done. DONE.