On the Third Anniversary

It’s my anniversary…

It’s been three years since I had my fallopian tubes removed (a.k.a. elective tubal saplingectomy surgery). 

Other than the initial consultation with my doctor (she trusted me to make decisions about my body without question — shocking behavior), the process was unremarkable: a few hours in a hospital on the really good drugs, a few days of rest and taking it slow, and tiny twin incisions on my lower abdomen that, three years later, are almost gone. ¡Voila! A vision made real: no bebes, ever. 

It’s a fact of life that I rarely consider. Until it comes up with new doctors. “Are you on birth control?” “Nope!” I chirp. “Sterilized.” Or watching U.S. abortion laws trend toward Handmaid’s Tale, when I’m enraged and relieved that I saw the writing on the wall with Kavanaugh’s appointment to the Supreme Court. 

I still get the occasional “Don’t you worry you’ll regret it later?” or “What if you meet a man who wants kids?” from new acquaintaces. My answers haven’t changed. 

I’d rather regret not having children than have children I regret. The former, I can survive. The latter — burdening a child with ambivalent parenting because I was afraid to die alone or needed to validate my life by creating another — I could not bear.

As far as hypothetical unicorn men whose love will be worth taking on a responsibility I never wanted… I made this choice to deter them, specifically. I’ve endured enough “I can change her mind” from sneaky suitors with little storks hiding behind their eyes. I am not the Duke of Hastings and you are not Daphne Bridgerton. My Improbable Happily Ever After will not include a baby trope.

[But, please. If you look like Regé Jean Page and offer a lifetime of witty banter, travel, museum-frollicking, and child-free fucking all over your palatial estate, I’m your girl. No worries about non-consentual impregnation here.]

I marked this day on the calendar last year to start commemorating it. Not as a child-free alternative to celebrating a child’s birthday (I might have a five-year anniversary shindig where I collect on the many baby shower gifts I’ve purchased over the years), but to recognize making my desires manifest.

It’s my dream come true. Odd for the absence of a thing to be a goal, but for years, I knew I didn’t want children while fearing that fate would take the decision out of my hands. So today, to quote President Bill Pullman, I celebrate my independence. The day I declared to the world that my life and body were mine. 

Happy January 17th.

Different context. Same vibes.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

3 thoughts on “On the Third Anniversary”

  1. Happy belated Anniversary!!

    You were one of the first people I saw tweeting about this procedure. Then as my 35th birthday faded further away in the review mirror (my self imposed deadline to have offspring), I decided that I would explore the option for myself and I’m also proudly tube free as of last September. My ‘stingray eyes’ scars are my personal badge of courage for choosing myself and not backing down.

    Thank you for being open about your decision and the process.

    Like

    1. “Proudly tube-free.” I LOVE that turn of phrase.

      Congrats to YOU for choosing yourself and not backing down. I’m happy and humbled to have played a part in that decision.

      Liked by 1 person

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