To snip, or not to snip, that is the question. About the skin at the fore is not that to which I'm referring. Rather, I'm addressing the teeny tiny tube encased and buried deep inside the phallus that got myself, and many women before me (as well as many more to come--pun intended), into trouble in the first place. The tunnel of love through which a lucky Olympic-like nautical swimmer speeds down, doing its strongest strokes towards its date with destiny with the egg of the woman, waiting rather impatiently on the other end. Together a union of epic proportion is entered into -- the creation of a zygote that will transform over the course of forty weeks into a human life, a baby for whom the man human and woman human will bear responsibility for the rest of their lives. For some one kid is enough, for others two or three will complete their family, and then there are those on the fringe who've produced a brood of nineteen and they're still counting.
I love my children. They are the lights of my life. The breath to my lungs. The beats to my heart. But, there comes a time when what I want is freedom from the fear of becoming an alien host again. Maybe, I should take a page from Donna Martin's mom on Beverly Hills, 90210 and just abstain? My husband can survive, right? HA! While there's a panoply of options from which I can choose, for me the pregnancy panacea is a vasectomy. Yes, I used that dirty little v-word. Although a fairly non-invasive, quick and painless procedure, I know men will whine and whimper at the thought of having one, let alone throwing the epic tantrum that comes with having the discussion about the possibility of undergoing the procedure.
Some men I know believe that having the vasectomy conversation is more painful than for us women to give actual birth. Of course there are other methods to ensure that another puck doesn't get past the goalie, but let's not wear blinders -- all of those methods and the responsibility to implement them rest squarely on the one with the estrogen-pants wearer in the relationship. Men need to put themselves in the shoes of their wives, spouses, girlfriends, or whatever nomenclature you use to label your double XX partner through life. The vasectomy conversation doesn't have to be complicated or even painful. Mine went something along the lines of this:
"My love, the time has come to give your swimmers a Viking funeral," I advised Husband.
"Of what dost thou speaketh?" hubby asked, a quizzical expression washing over his brow.
"Time to see a urologist and get fixed."
"Come again?"
"That's what were trying to prevent from happening." I smiled. The joke was lost on my husband. "It's time to get a vasectomy."
Hubby laughed. My face remained stone cold, like Steve Austin's.
"You're not kidding?"
"Nope."
"Just take the pill."
"It's not 100% effective against Third Child Disease. And, I'm not interested in the risk of dying from a pulmonary embolism that's associated with them. "
"Then get one of those other birth control devices, like an IUD."
"Would you stick a copper wire device up your penis?" Husband winces. "Why don't you wear a condom?"
"Condoms? Forever?"
"Until I hit menopause."
"That's forever."
"No, that's maybe 10, 15 years tops."
"Come on baby, those are only for when you're not monogamous. I don't want anything to come between our lovemaking."
"Babies work wonders at putting an end to lovemaking."
"In any event, condoms aren't even 100 per cent fool proof, so there's another reason why I shouldn't wear one. There's always the..."
"Don't even say it. No rhythm method! It's what got us into this mess in the first place."
Was that really so hard (pun intended)? Nah!
Men, just remember that a vasectomy won't stop you from pitching a tent. It simply means that when the volcano erupts, the lava won't flow and the villagers won't have to run for their lives. Why not man up and undergo a routine procedure that you won't even feel or remember, one that's along the lines of your circumcision (if you had one, and if you didn't, then along the lines of your first routine infant vaccination)? It is far simpler for men to have their faucets turned off than for women to undergo tubal ligations, which are more invasive and carry greater risks and potential complications.
Some women don't know if their reproductive days are behind them or not, while others do. Why should women have to spend the rest of their lives in the menses-controlling valley of estrogen and progesterone dolls or inserting their choice of birth control into their lady parts? Needless to say, I know that the concept of a tubal ligation sounds like an act best performed on car mufflers rather than on my lady parts. It's definitely more body work than the minor tinkering involved with a vasectomy. Personally, I don't want to be a perpetual pill popper throughout the rest of my fertile Myrtle days until my hormones ride off into the sunset of my eventual menopausal dry Sahara dessert future. All I do know is that cutting the vas deferens will make a vast difference. And, it's reversible. So, it's a win-win situation for men and women, n'est-ce-pas?
For more of Naomi's writing, visit her website, read her satire blog Satirical Mama, read her debut novel Deathbed Dimes.
ALSO ON HUFFPOST:
