Originally Published by Harmony Hobbs on Modern Mommy Madness
You haven’t lived until you’ve hauled three small children to the Urologist’s office to drop off a brown paper bag containing your husband’s semen.
I’m just saying.
Now, you’re probably wondering why I was the one dropping off the sample, instead of the person who created it. Trust me, I have asked myself this very same question approximately 856 times. It was just one of those unfortunate situations where the planets aligned just so and — BAM! — I found myself responsible for a container of sperm.
After I handed the specimen to the nurse while wrinkling my nose and wondering why SHE was wrinkling HER nose because doesn’t she do this shit for a living?! I wheeled the double stroller containing my smaller two children into a waiting room full of people – mostly men — as my eldest child held the door open for me.
Men. Everywhere, men. Old men, young men, men who looked angry, men who looked relieved. Men who were there to get vasectomies, men who struggle to get it up, men who can’t keep it up, men who had cancer, men who had STDs. Genital warts. Gonorrhea. I studied and guessed.
It was awkward.
As we were preparing to exit, the baby, who was only a few weeks old at the time, got hungry. She started to scream, but it was partially drowned out by her two older brothers who were holding out their arms yelling “I’M A ZOMBIE! I’M A ZOMBIE!” as they ran in circles amongst the sea of men in that waiting room.
I decided it would be better to feed my infant in the waiting room instead of in the hot car, despite the circumstances, and that is how everyone present ended up being subjected to 15 solid minutes of my children at their absolute worst.
I could not help but to notice the stares from everyone within earshot … and they weren’t the “Oh, look at the cute children!” kind of stares. They were the “Shut those fucking kids up!” kind.
And so, in an effort to quell my embarrassment over the entire ordeal, I told myself we were really doing all of the people there who were considering vasectomies a favor. I may as well have been wearing a big sign that read: