By BERN MORLEY
I knew I was finished. The minute I saw the Post it Note on the fridge with the words ‘Book Vasectomy Clinic’ scrawled across it, I knew my baby making days were over. It appeared my husband knew me better than I knew myself and even though at that point in time, i.e. six months pregnant with baby number 3, I had no intention of having a number four, he knew it would only take the mere sighting of a cute baby and I’d be back on the newborn express.
See, babies are my crack. One whiff, one sighting, one hold and I am hooked and need a more personal fix. My husband was well aware of this, hence the post it note. He had also done some logical thinking, damn him. Going from a family of 5 to a family of 6 meant more than just adding a new name to the Medicare Card. It would require a 7 seater car. It would mean a four bedroom home (at the very least). It would also mean that we would probably not retire until we were dead, (although to be honest, we are fairly prepared for that scenario anyway).
Are these reasons though, that are essentially material based, valid enough to veto child number 4, 5 or even 6? If you had caught me off guard in the post baby haze, three years down the track say, when the memories of vaginal tearing and sleep deprivation were conveniently forgotten, I’d have said, no, not a good enough reason. In the cold light of day however, knee deep in shitty nappies, ignoring the overdue gas bill and having cleaned up my body weight in vomit, I’d probably quite happily snip the offending sperm carrying tube myself.