A Surprisingly Sane Blog

The most taboo subject in history: The Vagina.

**** Stop reading now if you’re offended by the word.  This is going to get much, much worse.****

Even the word sounds disgusting.  I much prefer “va-jay-jay” or just plain “vadge”.  Yeah, the word “penis” is kind of gross, too, but not nearly as disgusting as, eh-hem, “VAGINA”.

Maybe if “penis” was three syllables it would sound as bad as “vagina”.

But onto the point. (Don’t you love how I can never seem to just come out and say what’s on my mind?  I have to get on another tangent first… you should hear me with my mom and sister- it’s like a three-ring circus of words.  Oops… there I go again…).

To the point for real this time.

I have decided that the va-jay-jay, or simply, “the V”, is nature’s cruel joke to women.  Even if it is the major thing that defines us, at least externally, as women.

First, although I know they’re supposed to be “beautiful”, and I’m sure some actually find them to be so, I think they’re weird-looking.  Not ugly, necessarily, but just odd.  Kind of like penises.  They’re weird-looking.  Like, dude- you have this hairy thing flopping off of your body! Except instead of this… creature-like-thing… hanging off of us, we have this dark cave leading to goodness-knows-where.

But the worst part is the V’s function.  It’s this thing used to take care of some guy’s crazy alien, then gives birth to his child.

The V.  It starts out perfect and tight.  Then it gets used for the first time.  Whether it stays that tight, I’m not too sure.  I don’t really care, to be honest.  But then eventually, that damn hairy alien does its freaking biological job and kick starts nine months of looming vaginal death.

That death?  It’s the end of the era of the perfect V.  The V becomes a human canon, stretching to horrendous limits to expel another fully-formed human being with a head circumference of like 14.5 centimeters.  If you are EXTREMELY LUCKY, you tear in half (or you get a good snip with something sharp and shiny) and your (male) doctor gives you a couple “courtesy stitches” to make sure your partners’ other brain has a nice, snug fit the next time you’re brave enough to use your va-jay-jay for one of its inteded purposes.  At least at the opening.

If you’re not so lucky, and your vadge decides to stretch to all hell without tearing, then it’s up to your body to determine what the hell is going to happen with its shape and diameter.  And it is NEVER the same after the trauma of childbirth.

A mom’s worst secret.  The one know one talks about.  WHAT THE HELL HAPPENS TO THE VADGE AFTER CHILDBIRTH?! Yeah, it kind of goes back.  I mean, it becomes a va-jay-jay again after it serves as a human catapult.  It’s fuckable.  I guess.  I mean, my husband will tell you it is.

But what happens to the mom?  What’s her take on it?  And what does the V think?  How does SHE feel about what has happened to her?  No one ever asks the V. 

V?  Miss Vadge?  Er, Mrs. Va-jay-jay?  What do you think?

After birthing two ginormous children through the V, I have decided I would prefer if Vadge were invisible.  I feel half-human after giving birth twice, and I think V probably would agree with me.  I’m pretty sure she’s not happy about the trauma she’s been through, either.

I remember looking in a mirror down there several weeks after giving birth to Julie and wondering what the hell had happened to the V I once knew.  It was absolutely foreign to me.  My midwife didn’t give me that blessed courtesy stitch, damn it.  In fact, she didn’t even really freaking sew me up correctly, which left me all swollen and sore for months.  I’m talking like NINE months.

I cried the first time I braved using a mirror down there after Julie (literally) tore me a new one.  At my 6-week postpartum checkup, my midwife said I was healing nicely.  I was dumbfounded.  I remember swallowing, feeling a bit sick that it was “healing nicely” when I knew what it looked like.

“Will it… ever go back to normal?”  I asked her.  She kind of looked at me, a little bewildered, and said, “Well, you’re still a bit open and swollen, but yes.”

Liar!

Pain for nine months and a tear that never fully healed is NOT “back to normal”.  I (sort of) got over it, though.  By the time I was pregnant with April, I was used to the fact that sex was always going to be at least a little uncomfortable for the V.  But it pleased my husband, and I at least felt good that Vadge could serve her main purpose.

Nevermind that it kind of tore me up emotionally for a long time.

I talked to Lisa about this problem before giving birth the second time.  After she took a look, she recommended that when I am done having babies, I should consider doing pelvic floor reconstruction surgery to help repair that tear site.  Yeah, this is coming from an all-natural hippie.  She was actually RECOMMENDING surgery.

But then, V had to do it again.  Or rather, I chose to let V become the incredible stretching organ again and I birthed baby #2.  This time, no tears.  The V did her job and snapped back into place with just a tiny little scrape and nothing more.

And now, almost 5 months later, I’m secretly (or not so secretly) wishing that I’d had two c-sections to save V from the trauma of childbirth.

I need a T-shirt to announce how I feel to the world:  “I birthed two kids naturally, and all I got was this exhausted va-jay-jay!”

If I’d known that I’d have this much trouble accepting what has happened to my body, I’d have thought twice about my birthing choices.  If I’d known my menstrual cramps would be so horrible that I’d be writhing in pain after having kids, I would have thought twice about my birthing choices.  If I’d known that I’d end up with prolapse that makes using the damn toilet difficult, I’d have thought twice about my birthing choices.  If I’d known that V would be nothing but a sad, sad shadow of what she once was, I’d have thought twice.

I wish I’d known.  I wish someone would have fucking told me.  NO ONE FUCKING TOLD ME.  I feel betrayed.  By all women who have birthed babies.  Why didn’t someone warn me?  Everyone just says it’s meant to do that, and that it goes back to normal.  I want whatever they are smoking!  Gimme some of that freaking psuedo-reality happy juice!

If I’d known, at least I would have been sort of prepared for what could happened to me.  I would have been able to make a (completely) educated choice.  I probably would have chosen the same route I took.  But at least I would have known ahead of time so that I could have prepared myself for this.

James doesn’t complain.  Like I said, the V is fuckable at least.  Destroyed in my mind, but she serves her purpose.  Even though the mere thought of sex makes me feel like a black hole on the inside.

Now I’m deperately wanting the whole surgery thing.  The prolapse sucks, and I don’t want to live like this.  It hurts.  More than just physically.

Time to PIMP MY VADGE!

Tags: Vagina

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 20th, 2009 at 11:24 am and is filed under Bitching, Insecurities. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.