I approached Mr. Rant with some mindless conversation today obviously because I'm his wife and that is my job. I casually mentioned that I made myself a doctor's appointment for a couple of reasons but that I really wanted to talk to her about the patch.
He literally yelled "NO!" at me. I was a little confused at first. I was talking about the nicotine patch because I'm sick and tired of slipping back into a cigarette here and there (and maybe that will help me jump this nasty little hurdle). That's when it hit me, he was talking about the birth control patch!
That made me laugh out loud and simultaneously console him. Poor Mr. Rant is traumatized when it comes to birth control. You see we have had our own psychological ups and downs with those special little doses of hormones.
When we first got together I got on the pill. I knew that I'm not the coolest person in the world on the pill but I figured the honeymoon sex action would make up for it.
Well, Debbie Downer is not that attractive to most men. The pill made me cry... over everything. I swear one time he turned around, just turned around. I however broke into tears and asked why he turned around like that at me. Seriously people, I was crazy.
That started the birth control merry go round of what keeps us away from condoms while not getting me pregnant and not making me crazy.
The special one that really traumatized Mr. Rant was the shot. Poor guy confuses it with the patch, probably a reaction from his Rachel birth control Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. The story goes like this: somehow my Gyno and I thought that if I couldn't handle daily doses of hormones shooting 3 months worth in one go was a good idea. I tell you this, I wasn't weepy.
Oh no sir, I was Satan.
Honestly, I balanced between zero sympathy for the human race and full on hatred. If Mr. Rant dare turn around in a funky way I would just knock that head right off his shoulders! Ok, I never actually got violent but you get the picture.
While I was rational and knew I was Satan, it still took a good couple of months for the hormones to even out. Sadly the race to a good birth control killed the very thing we were working towards: honeymooners disorder (ie. banging like bunnies).
In the end we went back to the exact thing we were trying to avoid, the good old fashioned condom. At least I can say that it gets the job done without making anyone go insane.
