Waffler

My husband is a waffler. In the largest sense of waffling. In the car today, which is the only place we can have a sane conversation because Jack sleeps and David and Henry watch a movie with headphones on, this was our conversation:

Kim: I'm going to call our insurance company on Monday and see what sort of coverage and co-pay is involved for the essure procedure.

Chris: (With a perplexed look on his face) What's essure?

K: It's that procedure I told you about that's like getting my tubes tied, but it's done in my doctor's office, not as a "surgical procedure".

C: Wait, is that permanent?

K: Um, yes. Isn't that what you want? You've said several times that you don't want another baby. I don't want to sit around *hoping* you'll change your mind.

C: Well, I guess I just don't think I mean I don't want another EVER. I mean, I'm not 100% opposed to it. I just don't know.

K: (Thinking, WHAT THE HELL?!) You're not? I was under the impression that you were 100% certain that you thought three is plenty.

C: Well, I just think about how expensive they'll be, how much money it costs to raise them, feed them, send them to college. I think you just think about babies. We don't don't have enough room for another child in our house.

K: (Thinking he's exactly right, both about the babies and the room.) Well I don't want another one tomorrow, but it's never been a secret that I would like to have another. You told me that the only way that was happening was if we won the lottery.

C: Well that was just a joke. I just don't think we should do something permanent.

WHAT THE HELL?! Of course I'm encouraged that he isn't totally shutting the door on a fourth child, but so frustrated that it's like pulling teeth to get that finally out of him!