As I limped ‘blue balled’ to read a book in bed, I said to my husband in frustration, “You know if you were fixed, we could be having sex right now.”
Equally as frustrated he replied, “What’s wrong with using a condom?”
“I’m ovulating today and I don’t want to take any chances. The condom could break.”
It all started a few minutes earlier when my husband nuzzled my neck and I got a warm tingly sensation. I’d been thinking about sex all that long, long day and as Murphy’s Law would have it, it was one of those oh-so-rare ‘spontaneous sex moments’ where both of us were in the sex zone.
I was willing, ready and waiting to pounce. Images of clothes being flung off, wild sex occurring filled my head—it had been so long since both of us had been in the zone I was practically drooling.
But alas as you’ve already read I was ovulating—the reason I was so juiced up on sex hormones—any sex drive was completely lost thinking about accidentally having another child. Plus I don’t want to subject my body to any more birth control.
The answer to our spontaneous sex woes is simple. A vasectomy. Such a minor thing to have in order for us to have a happy and healthy sex life. Or at least for me it is such a simple and minor thing.
It’s been a year that my husband has dodged the ‘you need to get a vasectomy’ bullet. He’s given some valid and some pretty lame excuses as to why he can’t have one. I’ve patiently listened to them all, trying to be empathetic.
Men get all weirded out when it comes to messing with the ‘boys’. That’s why I’ve been patiently persistent in using condoms. Hoping that too many moments of, “Oh we’re in the shower and you want sex. Okay. BUT you need to get a condom. Off you go.” would wear him down.
So I’m booking the appointment. But that leads me to my point. Why is birth control up to me and why do I have to be the ‘nagging wife’ to get this done. It just doesn’t seem fair.