"So, I had to move my balls out of the way so I could pee this morning..." one of my oldest and dearest friends said to me during one of our daily phone conversations. You see, my dear friend was eleventy hundred months pregnant and in case you didn't know, the anatomy 'down there'...changes. (changes is the nicest most politest word I could think of. I'm sorry. If you've ever had a baby, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, please stop reading NOW.)
This is definitely one of the things pregnancy books don't properly prepare you for. The way everything below the belt (and above for that matter, but we'll discuss that later) suddenly turns into a foreign country- with mountains and valleys and rivers. It isn't even the same color. None of it looks the teeniest bit vaguely familiar.
I know what the books say- they describe female genitalia like a flower. Which is bullshit because nobody but a crazy person would pay money for a flower that looks like it's been deprived of sunshine and water and then transported in an un-air conditioned van through the desert.
I've also heard labor described as 'the gradual opening of the flower'. This is even funnier. Ask any woman who has experienced pregnancy if labor and delivery felt like their 'flower opening' and they'll laugh so hard they'll mom pee (which is something else they don't tell you. After you have a baby, you pee your pants. Occasionally.)
I like to think of it like inflating a balloon, then deflating it. Then inflating it. And deflating it. As many times as you have children. Now imagine a sad basset hound. Or maybe a Shar Pei that's been yo yo dieting for a year or two. Now imagine that in 'vagina terms' and you'll know what it means. It's scary fucking shit.
I called my Gynecologist once to ask about vaginal reconstruction surgery and the best way I could explain it was 'the meat's just fallin' out of the taco.' The nurse laughed and then said "I know. I don't know what the hell happens down there after you have a baby." I agreed and said "It's like a grenade went off or something." The only thing that kept me from getting the surgery was the fact that it means no sex for 6 weeks even by yourself, which is terrible. Plus there was a hefty price tag attached to that surgery- upwards of $5,000. I have other, more visible things that need to be fixed, personally.
In the 70's (or so I've been told- I wasn't even born then. Ahem) The big movement was feminism and the big deal was to examine 'your business' with a hand mirror. Apparently all across America millions of women squatted over hand mirrors looking at their girlie parts. I have a visual of the squatting lasting 10 seconds before the laughter took over and they fell on said hand mirror. Which makes me think there might be some missing hand mirrors from around that time. Anyway, vaginas are not beautiful after you have children and that's why God gave you HAIR there, for God's sake.