Tag Archives: sex

Episi-WHAT-omy?


imagesI didn’t hear the word “episiotomy” until I was a young adult. I guess my mother never deemed it necessary to discuss the topic. Even though it kind of falls under the whole sex talk category.

You know, love, sex, conception, childbirth, episiotomy.

I mean, I completely understand her reasoning. She wanted grandchildren. She must have known if I knew what could become of the skin between my vulva and rectum during childbirth, I may have joined the nunnery instead of motherhood.

The first time I did hear the word, I was a twenty-something professional working for a large corporation. A co-worker who recently had a baby somehow felt it was her civic duty to give me the nitty-gritty of what can happen to your perineum during the delivery of a child.

After I received the blow-by-blow, I walked out of her office looking like I had seen the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come, with a rectum closely resembling Kim Kardashian’s lips in selfie mode.

But I was young and single. The thought of having babies was far away. Besides, from what I heard, it didn’t happen to everyone. I was certain I would be one of the lucky ones when the time came. So, I tried to relax and forget about it.

Which I did.

Until it happened.

Fast forward to Delivery Day. I am the age of thirty-one and in the throes of childbirth. Screaming every obscenity with each contraction that would make even the devil blush.

After the worst pain known to man was over and my beautiful baby was on this side of the world, it turns out I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. I didn’t feel a thing at first. Not until all the drama of what just went on down below the waist subsided.

“My God, what is that PAIN?” I screamed. “Why does it hurt like I was accosted by a jack hammer?” For a moment, I started to panic. Wondering if they got confused. I came in to have a baby, not a colonoscopy performed by a member of Laborers Union #60.

And then I remembered. It came back to me like last night’s chimichanga. My co-worker was absolutely 110% correct. I got cut all right. I was also ripped like a flimsy piece of poster board.

Yup, my sweet baby girl, the fruit of my loins, tore my bottom to smithereens.

I never actually looked down there to confirm, but I heard from a witness (my husband) that my incision was in the shape of a lightening bolt. Does this make me a super hero?

Well, yes. Obviously. That goes without saying.

But I didn’t want to see. The thought brought me back to that day at the office. It made me want to clench my posterior nether region like all those years before, but any clenching down there made me wish I was born a man.

I tried so desperately to not let the thought of its presence enter my mind. But it just kept popping up like a Whac-A-Mole at the county fair.

I was prescribed some stool softeners and a sitz bath and was sent on my merry way. When I walked, I felt as if I was channeling John Wayne. Except I wasn’t as sexy. Or nearly as cool.

The drive home from the hospital was not exactly a ride through Happy Town. Every bump and pothole was felt from here to Timbuktu. My thighs burning from holding up my own body weight. Which, I dare say, was a bit more than I was hoping for.

Ahh, the baby weight. The gift that keeps on giving.

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May I introduce to you the “Donut Pillow” AKA Butt…err, Life Saver.

Once I settled in at home, my mother — bless her heart — gifted me with the best item I ever received. It came in the form of a pillow. It was shaped like a donut and was soft and billowy.

Me and my donut pillow did not go anywhere without each other for a long time. We were thick as thieves. Stuck together like glue. He was the Frick to my Frack. The Ying to my Yang.

The sitz bath also helped tremendously with the discomfort. I was told to do 2-4 sessions a day. If anyone is unaware of what a sitz bath is exactly, it’s this contraption that looks like a little tub and rests inside your toilet seat. You fill it with warm water and this special solution and then you sit on it. There is a hose that you can use to aim that liquid miracle right at your incision with. It is total nirvana.

CX_P708-00_Image1I was so completely obsessed with this thing, that my 2-4 times a day was more like 12-14 times a day. I couldn’t get enough of it. I was sitting on that toilet like the Queen of Sheba. Ordering my husband around from my perch, feeding myself stool softeners as if they were peanut M&Ms.

Anyway, glad I survived that. It has been over nineteen years, but I still remember like it was yesterday.

They told me you forget the pain of childbirth. Something about the release of oxytocin or endorphins? You know, so you’ll do it again and humanity can continue to exist.

It’s hogwash.

How do I know? Well, I only have one kid. You be the judge.

Everything Gets Old. Everything.

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That’s a dried up peach. Get your head out of the gutter.

Attention all women.  Guess what we have to look forward to as we age?  Besides wrinkles.  And gray hairs.  And flabby skin.  And age spots.  And facial hair.  And toe hair.  And nose hair.  And memory loss.  And menopause.  And dryness.  And baldness.  Ooh, I got a little carried away there.  Sorry about that.  Apparently, there’s a new ailment in town.  Well, perhaps it’s not new per se.  I’m sure it’s been around since the beginning of time but no one felt comfortable about talking about it.  Until now.

It’s called Vaginal Atrophy.  Yup.  You got it.  The walls of your vagina can dry up from underuse.  You heard me right.  Underuse.  If you do not use your vagina, it can have the potential of drying up like the Sahara.  Or like old rubber left out in the sun too long.  And there are side effects that come along with this dryness.  Just think bread but not as nice.  Gross me out the door and gag me with a spoon. (There’s some ’80’s slang for you.  To prove I’m not old.  Oh wait, actually that proves that I AM old, doesn’t it?  Never mind.)

How do I know this?  Because my poor mother suffers from it.  She’s been suffering from the effects of it for months.  Months.  I had to listen to her complain about it for months.  Do you understand?  This is almost as bad as when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when I was 13, only to find my dad skipping around the living room in his heart covered briefs.  Okay, maybe that was worse.  Okay, that probably was worse.  Okay, that was worse. She didn’t know what it was. No amount of Monistat was curing it.  No amount.  I’m pretty sure the woman bought enough of that crap to put a down payment on a vacation home.

Anyway, her good doctor said it was from underuse.  When she told me, I was overcome with all sorts of emotions.  My amusement turned to disgust.  Which turned to disbelief.  Which then turned to full on panic.  Because I do not want to have vaginal walls of cracked shoe leather.  Like, I don’t worry enough already about getting old.

So, in a nutshell, if you don’t use your vagina, you could possibly suffer from vaginal atrophy.  Can you imagine?  What?  Are we supposed to have sex until we are 80?  I mean, sex is great and all.  But I’m guessing after 60+ years, I may be wanting a break.  Does anyone hear what I’m saying?  I mean, how hot will I look in a maid’s outfit at that age?  After all, if I’m still doing it at 80, I’m going to have to get creative.  Sorry for the visual.  But the truth sometimes hurts.  How would you get in the mood?  I’m talking about you.  Not your husband/significant other/partner.  Because men can go for forever.  They are like the Energizer Bunny crossed with Tony Randall.

It does give sex a whole new meaning though.  “Hey honey,  get ready.  We have some vaginal wall drying-up prevention to do.”  Mmm.  Romantic.  I’ll grab the petroleum.

Miley Has Lost Her Mind

Only a face her mother could love.  Maybe.

Only a face a mother could love.

I know every person known to man is talking about this.  But I just can’t resist adding in my two cents.  The Kid grew up with Miley.  I completely approved of Hannah Montana.  She was innocent and clean.  What the hell happened to her?

I know she grew up.  She can’t be Hannah forever.  But come on girl.  Have some damn respect.  I did not watch the VMA’s. I do not tend to watch awards shows because it’s tiring watching celebrities pat themselves on the back.  Where’s my award?  Well, except the Oscars occasionally, and even that’s starting to get on my nerves.

The Kid showed me the clip of her at the VMA’s on Youtube.  I literally threw up in my mouth.  First of all, what’s with her tongue?  Why does she keep sticking it out in that unattractive way?  I think someone needs to tell her that that is not sexy.  Gene Simmons could get away with it in his KISS days.  Not Miley Cyrus.  Her mamma needs to rinse that tongue with a bar of soap.

I didn’t understand the bear thing.  Were those bears?  Whatever they were, that was weird.  She took a child’s toy and turned it into a sexual object.  Yuck.  I will never be able to look at a teddy bear the same again.  Maybe someone can explain their purpose if I am missing the point.

The girl was practically having sex on the stage.  Her and whatever his name is…Alan Thicke?  Oh wait, that’s his dad, right?  Geez, I suddenly feel old.  They really needed to get a room.  I mean come on, there is a time and place for that behavior.  I don’t really care if it was an act or not.  And believe me, I’m really not a prude.

When Madonna pulled stunts like that to reinvent herself and boost her career, it worked for her.  But Miley?  I will be pretty damn surprised if she has a career in 10 years.  I do have to give her kudos though.  Because I just realized as I’m finishing up here, that she wanted to stir up some controversy.  She wanted the attention.  She’s in her multi-million dollar mansion right now laughing it up.  Because she got what she wanted.  Whether it’s positive or negative, it’s attention nonetheless.  I wonder what dear old dad is thinking?  A proud moment for him?  Probably not.  I just wish she’d keep her clothes on and stop humping things.  And please for the love of God, keep that damn tongue in your mouth before it gets stuck like that.