T.M.I.

I just went and got some rather heavy-duty birth control.

Hold on a sec... I have to take a couple of deep breaths and center myself.

OK. I got an... *shiver* Damnation! I can't say it.

Even though I like to consider myself a pretty cool, liberal person, I cannot talk about my... hoo hoo, and its goings on.

Can't do it.

My upbringing, I guess. When it came time to have the talk with my mother, she drove me to the library, the one with the red-headed, bespectacled librarian man I had known all my life, and sat me down and spoke to him in hushed tones that were nonetheless clearly audible to EVERYONE IN THE LIBRARY about how I was so very smart and advanced, and that it was time for me to learn about... grownup lady things like MENSTRUATING VAGINAS and INTERCOURSE FOR PROCREATIVE PURPOSES and stuff like that, so would HE please point out some suitable educational non-fiction for me, at an appropriately challenging AND AGONIZINGLY EMBARRASSING reading level, please. Thank you very much.

Dear God, are you there? It's me, Grudge Girl.

So even though I can DO things, and I believe I can do them quite well (judging from reactions), and I very much enjoy doing them, I certainly can NEVER TALK ABOUT THEM.

Perhaps I can write about them?

Here goes. I. Got. An. IUD. (and... cleansing breath)

Of course, I have to be careful when I DO do things, because I am the most fertile person alive. Well, except for that wack fundie lady who was on that reality show, "15 Children & Pregnant Again" (I think - I'm not checkin' - I'm lazy). But I have a sneaking suspicion that if I had dropped the pretense of birth control a few years ago, I'd be neck and neck with her. Or uterus and uterus. I'd probably be winning. Or losing, depending on your point of view, I guess.

Oh dear, I'm instinctively tangent-ing away from hoo hoo talk. So yeah, birth control. NOT VERY FREAKING EFFECTIVE for me. My three kids? Conceived on the pill. Condoms? I scoff at condoms. Plus, they're just SO ludicrous-looking, and kind of yucky and slimy, and poor Andy, I KNOW he doesn't like them - what guy does? And, yes, he's really weirded out by the idea of being snipped himself, because what if I die or something and he wants to start another family with his new wife? (That's what I like to tell myself his reason is. Because I'm a masochist.) And now I'm too old for the pill anyway, so Dr. Bean, my hilarious and probably gay OB-GYN (who I have a massive unrequited crush on anyway) recommended the Mirena IUD.

I resisted the urge to Google myself into oblivion, what with the too much information, and the scary stories, and stuff. I just read the promotional materials and listened to my doctor (whom I really do trust) like a good patient.

But when it came time to go do this today, I started freaking out. First of all, you have to have the things inserted when you're (breathe) on your period. EWWWWW!!!!! Nobody sees that but me!!! Secondly, I think I internalized a fear of IUDs because of the weird Dalcon Shield problems, and some scary IUD stories that happened in the 70s, when I was just a wee grudgeling, but a well-read and alert one, so I paid attention to stuff, apparently filing it away for just this moment in my future.

But thirdly - and this is the weirdest of all - this is a commitment to 5 years of no more babies. Like, it's DONE. No more surprises. Not that we were planning on having any more! Of COURSE we weren't! My God, we'd have to go live in a Dickensian poorhouse if we had another baby. But still. Mentally, I had to surrender fully to that no-more-babies plan. That means I will never get to be pregnant again. For real. I can't even dream about it now. And the weight is here to stay, until I get off my ass and make the time to work it off, because I can't get pregnant and put off the weight-loss until after the baby. And I won't get to experience carrying babies any more. And you know what? I LOVE being pregnant. (I can hear Andy laughing) I know it gets rough towards the end, but still. Being pregnant rules.

And I won't get to deliver another one, and witness Andy's raw love for me in the delivery room. He's the type of guy who doesn't express WANTON PASSIONATE LOVE all the time. He's low-key. Not so verbal. Not Gothy-romantic-poet-ish. So I only get to experience expressions of big, teary love at the births of babies, or, presumably, if I got in a car wreck, and he were worried he might lose me. I guess I'll just have to wait for that, then.

And - no more babies. And I love my babies. They're beautiful! And smart and wonderful and charming and... cool. Andy and I have talked about how if we were rich, we would SO have another one, because we make really good babies, and I'm pretty darn good at havin' em. Plus, there's a part of me that wonders what another one might be like, you know?

So I guess I'm a little sad. I feel slightly ridiculous, but so what. I'm sad, damnit.

And (breathe) crampy.

And the (breathe) (ahem) insertion procedure was not blindingly awful. Just a couple notches above regular-old-visit-to-the-OB-GYN awful. With added cramps, for her displeasure! So now they have to check it in a month, and then I'm apparently good to go for 5 years. Lighter (in, out, in, out) periods and no extra precautions necessary. Lower levels of hormones than the pill. No added risk of cervical cancer or weepiness. (Shoot. I was kind of hoping for that excuse.) No weight gain. (Shoot. I was kind of hoping for that excuse.)

I guess we'll see. Dr. Bean assured me that I won't get pregnant. If there's a .0000006 chance of anyone getting pregnant with this thing in, though, it'll be me. Look for me on the Today Show, sitting Indian style in the chair (the only way I can sit when I'm pregnant), discussing my upcoming lawsuit against Mirena, because their faulty product failed me. Hey, we'll have to get money to support baby #4 somehow! How much do you think we can get for pain and suffering?