On Monday, I had this very bizarre sensation that something was in my cooper. I figured it was maybe a clot or something, and I went about my business figuring it would come out or whatever. On Tuesday, that feeling was worse. The only way I know to describe it is it was like when you don’t put a tampon in right. Not painful or anything, but totally weird. Tuesday night when I went to the bathroom (TMI alert, kids), when I wiped, it felt like my insides were coming *out of my cooper. What. The. FUCK?!?!? I sort of reached up in there, and my cervix was RIGHT THERE. Oh, holy fucking night, Batman.

So, the next day, I call my ob/gyn’s office. They want to see me immediately. We go in, and yep, I have a prolapsed uterus. My vaginal walls, front and back, are “compromised.” Dr. L asks me if I’m done having kids. I said, “Not totally sure.” She says, “Well, you have your post-partum check up in two weeks, we’ll address it then. If you are done, we’ll probably do a hysterectomy. If not, we’ll discuss your options.” Um, whoa.

Okay, so I have two weeks (a little over — my appt is 4/23) to figure out whether I’m done having kids or not. And two weeks of walking around feeling like my junk is coming out of my cooper? Alrighty then. So, Bill and I start talking about it, and I talk it over with Lisa and Jean.

I think I really am done having babies, at least biological ones. (I won’t rule out the possibility of adopting.) No, scratch that. I am done having babies. This last pregnancy was just too frelling hard from start to finish. I love my Tricia girl, and I am so glad we have her. She made all of it worthwhile, truly. HOWEVER, I know that all the stuff I went through with her is only going to be worse with the next one, and I’m so not interested.

Also, I believe that God (or Goddess or Higher Power or whatever) sends us signs to let us know what to do and not do. Maybe not like “burning bush that talks” signs, but definitely signs. I really and truly feel like the hyperemesis was a sign telling me to stop after this one. Then the antepartum depression was another sign. Then the PPD was yet another sign. Through all of those, I kept saying “Maybe one more…” So God said, “Okay, bitch, you’re not listening to me, maybe THIS will work,” and I wind up with this prolapsed uterus. It probably sounds crazy, but that’s really how I feel.

Aside from all that, I’m just getting too old to have more babies. At least, for me. I have said for years now that at 35, I’m all done with having bio kids. Well, to have another one by then, I’d have to get pregnant in October. Tricia would be 7 months old then, 16 months old when I had the next one. Errrr…maybe not so much with chasing a toddler while I’m hugely pregnant.

Anyway, I was telling my mom all this to get her opinion about it. She knows me better than anyone else sometimes, and I knew she’d know if I were just BS’ing to cope or if I really meant this. She said she thinks I really am done. Her exact words — “Honey, to me, it sounds like you’re saying, ‘Mommy, I know I’m only 33, but I’m done having kids. Is that okay?’ And yeah, it’s okay.” So, that eased my mind a lot.

Also, when I realized I was excited about the prospect of a hysterectomy, I figured that pretty much settled it altogether. LOL. I mean, no more BC, no more periods…what’s not to like here?? :grin: Watch, now the ob/gyn will be all, “No. We’ll wait” or some shit. I’ll be pissed. :grin: