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The alternative title to this post was All Of The Fun We Are Having At My House Right Now but that just seemed a little too melodramatic, even by my standards.

So yeah. I had my six-week postpartum followup thingie today. Which means this pregnancy is officially over. Sure, I guess you’re right, it was technically over once I pushed a human out my hoohaw but really, today sort of solidified it. I will never be pregnant again. Which, you know, whatever. Neither of my pregnancies was exactly a cakewalk (said the queen of understatement) but still. Not growing anymore babies in this ol’ uterus. And right, I still have a tiny baby and will be breastfeeding for at least another 10&1/2 months so there’s that. And I bet some of you are shaking your heads and muttering “famous last words” like I’m somehow either A) going to accidentally get knocked up again or B) change my mind and decide I want another baby and to that I say “awww, internet – you are so cute”. Because AS IF, PEOPLE. Did you read anything at all about my last pregnancy? Or the one before that? But anyway, if you need actual proof that it ain’t happenin…

My husband had a vasectomy today. Ain’t no thang. [side note: Except that it is because apparently he had some complications that while not exactly rare are not exactly common either and thus made the whole purported ease of the procedure (IN THE TIME IT TAKES YOU TO WATCH THIS VIDEO, YOU TOO COULD HAVE A NO-SCALPEL VASECTOMY) seem like a lie and now he has to keep icing his junk or it might swell up. Of course he did. Because apparently the entire Carter family are a bunch of circus freaks with this whole procreating business and we should JUST STOP ALREADY. Which we are. The End]. Anyhoo – we had talked about the vasectomy when I was still pregnant with Simon, yea, even before all of the drama ensued because we knew we were done. I mean, I had tiny slivers of thoughts that it would be super fun to have three kids (I grew up as one of four and it was (and still is) awesome to have that many siblings to fight with constantly be friends with) but yeah, please see my Blog Posts of Pregnancy Past about complication on top of complication on top of hospitalization on top of HOLY SHIT HOW DID YOUR BABY SURVIVE?! for the reasons why that desire has been totally and completely wiped out. But even though we had talked about it I was unsure how quickly my husband would actually follow through because you know, whatevs, you ain’t even allowed to have the intercourse until the six-week checkup and that’s like, FORREVURRR. But he must have been as traumatized as I was by The Great Pregnancy Drama of ’14 because he called his doctor for a referral visit like three weeks after I delivered and now, here we are. Me with my fully-recovered (but never to be the same again) hoohaw and my husband with a bag of frozen peas on his nuts. We sure know how to party! Woot! Four-day weekend! Please remember to have a moment of silence for his poor vasa deferentia on Memorial Day, folks. PS – I’m trying hard not to feel guilty that he is in pain and stuff. I mean, I pushed babies out my hoohaw. Drug-free! Plus THIS. I shouldn’t feel guilty. Right?

Anyway. No more Carter babies, y’all. 

In other news: Simon is currently going through his fussy phase. You know, that three-month period where they cry for like, five hours every evening? Yeah that. And he does it while I’m working. And Jason is trying to bathe Louisa and get her in bed. 

In other news: I’m changing my work schedule.

In other news: I drove like, four different places today.  All by myself. And wore real clothes (rather than the stretched out maternity yoga-type pants that I normally live in) and makeup and errythang! And then I came home and worked a four-hour shift. And then my husband got a vasectomy. And then he drove to the airport to pick up his mom and stepdad (they live in Bullhead City, Arizona so our airport is the closest to them and they went on vacation all week and he dropped them off last week not realizing that they would get back on the day he had the snip and when I volunteered to go get them for him he was like NAW so don’t think it’s because I’m a horrible wife or anything because I’M NOT). And then I went to Walmart to get frozen peas and corn for his nuts and candy for our bellies but I forgot the frozen peas and corn (you guys, I am such a horrible wife) because I’m a fat girl and all I care about is da candies so then I had to go back out to the store, and I may or may not have been listening to The 80s at 8 on whatever the hell radio station and listening to Pat Benatar and White Snake really loud because that’s how I roll. By which I mean I AM SO OLD.

The End.

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