There is this term that I’ve come across on one of the pregnancy forums I stalk (I’m obsessed, obviously) and every time I hear it I keep trying to remember to utilize it because it’s too perfect to let die.
As in: Don’t flame me but…I just ate an entire box or Oreos/I forgot to take my pre-natal/I’m 100% circumcising my child.
(It’s like we just played two lies and a truth and you didn’t even know it)
Can you guess which of those three are actually true?
It’s the penis one.
I wrote about this decision to have the procedure done over on In the Power Room and since I know not everyone visits there, I’m just going to post my thoughts here, too.
It’s only fair to you, right? Don’t you want to know what’s going on in this (completely scatter-brained, cannot even remember to take the keys out of the car) head of mine?
I told Tim this morning that I almost fainted when Maddie got her microchip “inserted” into her back.
If you’ve never seen the microchipping needle, it’s like the size of your pinky finger and because they oh so conveniently had a defective needle/chip, they had to stick her THREE TIMES. She was only a puppy, still, and it killed me having to witness that. Absolutely killed me.
While I was standing in the vet’s exam room, trying to be a supportive pet parent, I legit almost lost it, hearing Maddie cry out after the second failed attempt and barely made it through the third before the room starting closing in on me and my stomach lurched into my throat, complete with the cold sweats and tunnel vision.
I have no idea how I’m going to sit through the sprout’s…”operation” without totally losing it. I’m going to need a chair and a pukey bucket thing for sure.
As difficult as I already know this will be, this is the direction we’re headed, confirmed this morning as we talked on the way to my doctor’s appointment. Which, by the way, I’m measuring exactly 27 weeks and have gained TWENTY TWO POUNDS.
I don’t even want to think about it anymore.
So, we’re going to talk penis, instead:
When my husband and I found out we would be having a boy this February, one of the first questions that popped up was about circumcision. Not how we would raise him or how I was going to recover from the marathon of my life…Noooo.
The burning topic was whether or not we were going to have a doctor slice skin off of his penis.
That’s a question?…That I have to answer?
Isn’t it obvious?
Cut! Cut! Cut!
I love how the idea of circumcision is supposed to spark some kind of deep and emotional internal debate within me.
Except, there was never even a debate to be had.
Cut! Cut! Cut!
I imagine said internal debate would have gone something like this: Will I pull the trigger on the barbaric genital mutilation or will I use my better judgment and availability to the wealth of medical knowledge to keep the little guy looking like the trunk of an elephant? What do I do? Oh, moral compass, don’t fail me now!
Simply put: there will be no elephant trunks in this household. Period.
Every single male in my family and my husband’s family had a little snip-snip action and, to put it in the words of my husband, “I’m not going to be the one singing the ‘one of these things is not like the other’ song to explain why his little turtle looks nothing like mine.”
Well said, dear.
And no, this decision has nothing to do with religion. I’m not Jewish, nor is my husband, but we were both initially raised Catholic – maybe that has something to do with it. If it were for religious reasons, I’m sure everyone would be much more understanding, “Ohhhh…it’s for your religion…I see…”
But, it’s not. It’s one hundred-percent personal preference, even though the number of males getting circumcised is becoming smaller and smaller due to “discoveries” on why circumcision is a horrible, unnecessary procedure.
Unnecessary or not, our new addition will become part of the shiny turtle cohort come February.
I mean, I’m not completely heartless to what will happen to my freshly born son.
Will I have to be physically restrained to my hospital bed while this procedure is happening, hearing my little boy is screaming bloody murder?
Will he thank me at some point in his life?
However, seeing that there are more procedures done to remove the foreskin on adult males than there are to put it back on, I’m confident that I’m safe in my decision. He won’t even remember it, anyway, right?
Besides, have you ever heard a man complain about his penis being circumcised?