Know what's super awesome? A family handling a vasectomy, stomach flu, and Snowmaggedon all in one week. Of course that's how it went. I'll be honest- this week could have gone better. Not quite what we were anticipating when we scheduled my husband's vasectomy.
Oh, by the way: My husband had a vasectomy last Friday... Friday the 13th. Ominous, no?
Nope! For us, it was a day of joy, laughter and happiness. Tears of exaltation. A day of pure celebration. There were a few tiny nerves, but mostly 'twas a day that meant, "HUZZAH!!! No more fear! No more waiting in terror! No more surprise pregnancies!" Until my husband came limping out of the operating room with bandages and ice on his balls. Then it was probably not going to be so much a day of celebration for him (but still for me!! Sorry, honey).
This is not to say that we do not adore our children. We do. We love them completely and unequivocally. Each of us has exploded with love for each little boy and we are overcome each and every day with their awesomeness. We love them so much that we don't want to dilute our love any more. So.... VASECTOMY!!!!! We are also ready to rid my body (and our environment... think of the fish!!) of the artificial hormones I've been riddled with since I was eighteen. My husband is a badass feminist and thinks it's bullshit that women have to deal with all body modification in order to prevent pregnancy. I concur, so all done. Goodbye, pills. Vasectomy!!!
All was going well. We were icing the balls, taking it easy, chillaxing even. Until Saturday night at midnight. That's when the puking began. We woke to the sound of our toddler whimpering. My husband went in to see what was going on and promptly got puked on. (My poor husband ALWAYS gets puked on. I am grateful for his sacrifice.) He carried the crying, barfing boy into the bathroom while I stealthily stripped his bed, shoved all the bedding into the washing machine, and remade the bed. In the dark. While one child cried and puked and the other screamed because he awoke to the screeching of a frightened brother. It was good times.
After about an hour of barfing, we finally managed to get our toddler calmed down and into new clothes. The barfing had ceased and the poor little guy was exhausted, so he asked to go to bed. We tucked him in and crawled back into bed a little after one in the morning. (Did I mention we'd had a friend over that night who had brought with him a colossal bottle of wine? And that my husband doesn't drink? So it was left to me to help tax that bottle of wine? Wait... you're saying we didn't have to finish it? I didn't want to be rude. It was POLITE to help him finish it. Geez.) Half an hour later we awoke to more whimpering and another hour long puke session. And repeat. And repeat again. By the end of the four hours, my toddler couldn't even hold himself up. He just collapsed into my lap and I held him like a baby between retches. Saddest thing on the planet. He was begging to go to bed, but he just kept heaving. I stroked his hair and did the best I could to reassure him that it would end eventually. A little after four a.m., his dry heaves disippated and he sank into me and fell asleep. We tucked him in, knocked on every surface of wood we saw, and crawled back into our bed hoping for the end of it.
The next morning he woke up hungry and asked for several different things for breakfast. He was low energy and didn't eat much all day, but he seemed fine. We were sure he was on the mend. Funny, right? As we were getting him ready for bed, round two. Nothing like a little projectile vomit right after dinner. Par-tay. After two rounds, he seemed to be feeling better, so we jumped in the shower with him where he proceeded to sing and dance. Kids are mighty weird little creatures. We took it easy, but he went to bed fine and has been puke-free (knock on wood) ever since.
Then, came the snow. As my husband and I were inching around the stomach flu and chugging vitamin C-rich liquids like our lives depended on it, the forecast came for a likely snow storm. Then it changed to "Snowmaggedon" (which should clearly be followed by a menacing buh-buh-buh-BUM). But here's the thing. Seattle has a tendency to predict these kinds of things, only to see a smattering of snowflakes that melt upon impact. Generally, I find myself deeply disappointed. And frankly, between all the vomit and the ball icing, I wasn't in the mood to get my hopes up for a lovely winter wonderland. As expected, Tuesday came and went with nary a snowflake. LAME. But then the newscasters predicted major snowfall. Six to twelve inches at least. Snowmaggedon. Snowpocolypse. A MAJOR SNOWMERGENCY!!! And then slowly all of the school districts started to close. Hmm....
We awoke the next morning to a few inches of snow, and it was still falling. It fell all day, all night, and all the next day. Honestly, it was beautiful. Having grown up with snow in Northern Idaho, I find that miss it every winter. I don't miss all the crap that comes along with it (like the shoveling), but it's just so beautiful. And there is nothing on the planet like watching a kid- let alone your kid- gallivant around in the whiteness.
We enjoyed Snowmaggedon around here. The snow stuck around for a couple of days and then melted away. And we didn't have to shovel a thing. And my husband's classes were all cancelled, thereby allowing his balls to heal. Win, win. For us, it was a nice addition to a weird week.
So, not exactly the week we had imagined. But there was some good stuff in there, and we got to spend some time together as a family. Nobody felt great and it wasn't exactly what I would call relaxing, but the snow brought us a nice escape. And we were lucky enough not to lose power. Could have been worse!!