Let the Healing Begin

Two weeks ago we took Sully for his two-month check-up. He is healthy and is growing very steadily. He now weighs 10 pounds, 13 ounces and is 23 inches long. Of course, with these early doctor visits come shots, but we take Sully to the health department for his vaccinations. He fared those very well, too, with a bit of crying, then an extended nap. Fortunately, he did not get a fever afterward, which can happen.

We brought Sullivan home from his doctor’s visit and Jeff and I watched the children, baby Sullivan and Jude, our preschooler who learns a bit too much every day. Our hearts were full. We turned to one another. “Let’s have another child,” we said, “Another addition to this family.” Then we laughed, deep, full-body laughter that filled the house. For, you see, we had already decided that two children was the perfect number for us. No more pregnancies for me, no more babies for us. As it is, unless things pick up in the finance department, we may have to just pick a favorite child and let him go to college. Let’s see how school goes. Maybe we won’t have to worry about college.

So, as brave men before him have done, Jeff opted to get a vasectomy. In fact, he was quite mature about the whole thing. Mature, that is, until we had a consultation at the doctor’s office and were given a video to watch that outlined the whole procedure. Then we both snickered and mocked the video, laughing until the doctor rejoined us in the room. We had the maturity level of junior high school boys in a sex ed class.

A few days later (last Friday), I drove Jeff to his appointment. An hour later, the deed was done. Jeff described the experience as “painless” (yes, really) and spent the weekend lying about with a strategically placed bag of frozen peas, per the doctor’s orders. By Monday, he was doing very well, though he had a ten-pound weight restriction, which meant he couldn’t pick up Jude. (Defying the weight restriction didn’t even cross his mind after the doctor’s vivid descriptions of what could happen if he did.) Here it is, one week later and it is as though nothing ever happened. I thought it was a bit in bad taste for him to unzip his pants at his mother’s Christmas party and offer to show everyone the (tiny) scar, but it did make a very lovely centerpiece.

Just so he didn’t feel left out, Jude managed to cut the tip of his forefinger on a chair. He didn’t cry, but came to me and said “Mom, I cut myself,” as he left a trail of blood. I cleaned and bandaged it and it wasn’t until the band-aid came off that Jude decided that it hurt. Fortunately, that, too, passed and he has recovered.

And as for me? I am sleep-deprived and experiencing a bit of holiday hangover. In other words, I am just fine. All is well.

Song of the day: Lou Reed's "Perfect Day." No particular reason: Just a great song, one of my favorites.

Movie of the day: Spiderman 3. I am now in my third viewing since Christmas and, though I will never admit it to Jude, I actually enjoy it.