It's all in the timing. And the ability to hide behind the pillows!

Amazingly this morning the stars aligned and Rich and I were able to celebrate Noah's first day of 2nd grade with a few minutes of alone time. And when I say the stars aligned I mean both boys were watching TV downstairs and Rich managed to actually lock and latch the bedroom door.

After our little celebration we talking about the logistics of the week and my pre-op appointment tomorrow with the surgeon that is going to be repairing the ol' frankenvulva in a few weeks.

Rich is very much a "I'll deal with the details when I absolutely need to" kind of guy. I'm more the "need to know everything that is going to be happening a week month year from now" kind of gal. When I don't let it irritate the absolute crap out of me it kind of balances us out fairly well.

So Rich was asking me for oh, the third fifth tenth time in the last two days what time the appointment was. I reminded him and then said "remember, they are going to measure you tomorrow."

I heard a half choking/half coughing sound, and he said "ohhhh, really?"

"Yeah. Remember? You knew that. To make sure they get me tight enough."

"Oh, uhh, OK. Right."

"They measure you when you are erect you know." (At this point I'm practically hiding under my pillow so he can't see me trying not to laugh.)

"Huh, ummm, right. Well, I hope the nurse is hot."

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide the fact that I was laughing hysterically at this point and he was on to me. 

"Gotcha!"

The fact that I couldn't follow it through until the appointment tomorrow was almost salvaged by our next conversation.

"So, how long after the surgery do we have to wait until we can have sex?"

"Six months" I mutter as I'm brushing my teeth.

"Damn, wow." 

*toothpaste splatters the mirror as I laugh*

"Fuck, you got me again."