My Not Scary, Pretty Cool Birth Story

This picture is clearly taken before the invention of birth photographers who can make you look beautiful, peaceful and rested immediately after pushing an 8 pound human out of your vagina. I didn't have that photo taken. My pics were taken by family members while I lounged around in greasy hair and maternity tops. I had packed some great outfits for my time after baby and strangely, they all shrunk on the trip to the hospital. I was forced to wear home what I had worn to the hospital and my body looked just as unfortunate in the before and after shots. That 40 pound baby I was planning to take home weighed a lot less and water weight turned out to be a fucking lie. What was great about this whole situation is how amazing my birth experience was. You have probably heard plenty of pantie dropping, butt hole tightening birth stories. Most of them are scary enough to keep you from having intercourse for the rest of your life. This isn't one of them.

I had my daughter, pictured above, when I was 23 years old and naive as shit. Luck was with me when I randomly chose an OB/GYN who took our insurance and was a God send to my vagina. She asked me what I wanted my birth to look like and then stretched my twat beyond reason to keep me from needing stitches. My plan initially was to go with no medication, all natural, no C-Section, no suction and to go into labor naturally. She had warned me that birth plans don't always come to fruition, but that she would do her best to create the birth that I desired. I was 37 weeks along when I found out I was 3 cm dilated and being a first time mom, I was ecstatic. Come to find out, I would stay at 3 cm for three weeks and see no other progress. My doctor asked if I would like to be induced at 40 weeks in order to have her deliver our daughter, or wait it out and have one of her colleagues be in the delivery room. Vacations for doctors are a real bitch. We chose the first option.

We were scheduled for our induction on Sunday, August 11 and we prepared to head to the hospital at 8 am. When we showed up, we were put in a room and I was hooked up to monitors, given an adorable backless gown and started on Pitocin. It wasn't in my birth plan, but I was so fucking ready to get this baby out that I didn't care. I was still planning on no pain medication, however once the first wave of contractions started I began screaming for the shot in the back that I so clearly deserved. The epidural was administered and I went from wanting to claw my husband's face off to chilling in bed with some decent TV programs. That went on for a few hours. Laboring was a breeze and the only issue I was encountering was my hunger and my need to take a huge shit. I asked to be helped to the restroom and the nurse informed me that it wasn't a bowel movement, but my need to push out this baby that was causing my discomfort. We argued for a few minutes and when she checked me again, I was at a 10 and ready for action. I was convinced I still needed to poop, but that wasn't happening so I gave up and started pushing. With my legs propped in the air, my face sweating and hoards of people with their eyes on my naughty bits, I pushed for just under an hour. During that period, I took a shit on the table (I told you, bitch) and eventually gave birth to a healthy, screaming baby girl.

I had the normal excessive bleeding along with maxi pads the size of an RV, but otherwise I felt great. The epidural wore off quickly and I was ready to go home early the next morning. From start to finish, the birth of our daughter took 10 hours and was a beautiful end to 9 months of eating and sleeping whenever I wanted. I loved being pregnant, I loved giving birth and I have loved, even more, raising the wonderful girl who we were blessed to take home that day. The moral of this story: Don't be scared, find a great doctor, be willing to switch up your birth plan and know that your body can do amazing things. Like push a watermelon out of a hole the size quarter. Think about that.

Bagels and Your Body

Wondering what that is? My kids call it "Mommy's bagel belly" and then mommy drinks a bottle of wine and cries in the corner. This is what I have left after birthing two adorable children and gaining/losing over a hundred pounds. While I adore the new Dove campaign, even they don't capture all the realities of what a woman's body looks like after babies, huge weight fluctuations and the millions of genetic combinations that can make or break your build. I want people to understand that even though I may buy a smaller size, I have a bagel to tuck into my jeans. A bagel!

I started running a couple of years ago and was pleasantly surprised by how quickly I was able to burn calories and get fit. Running had always been my arch nemesis, but after pushing myself through a couple weeks of pain, I could see results that I hadn't gotten from swimming, walking or weights. What I still couldn't get rid of was my belly. I incorporated Pilates, heavier weights and even more running only to lose more weight and have more sagging skin in my mid-section. What is it they call my shape? Apple. I can only assume that I should feel good about that because apples are healthy. In reality,  it only makes me question whether or not I should wear a swimming suit in public. Ever. Are apples cute in two-piece swim suits?

I hear this a lot... "You are so tiny, you could wear anything". Wrong. Fitted tanks give me a spare tire, fitted jeans hurt my gut, low cut pants release the bagel from captivity and add an extra element of gross to any top I pair them with. "You could work that off". Could I? Because I've done more sit-ups and planks than I care to remember and while my muscles get stronger my bagel gets saggier. Had I gotten my mother's genetic build I could wear a two piece well into my 80's. My mom birthed three children and she looks better in a swimsuit than I do. And she's a grandma!!! Think about that for a minute.

I love my body. I also love detesting certain things about my body and I love sharing it. We all have body issues, even 'tiny' people. My sister is tall and thin, what society would describe as 'perfect' and guess what? She was tortured in middle school because of it. There is no such thing as perfect. We all have a love/hate relationship with our bodies at some point, so embrace it, laugh at it, take a picture and put it on the internet for every fucking person in the world to see. Who cares. It's true that you can't judge a book by it's cover, some covers have a delicious bagel underneath.

Tomorrow....For Sure.

If you are not married with kids, this may not make any sense to you. Or if you are a sex addict. Or you're a man. When you squeeze an actual human being out of a hole the size of half dollar, you may lose the desire to ever see a penis again. When this happens, don't judge yourself and don't tell your husband that you will never have intercourse with him again. He may hide in his office and take up a part time job as a professional viewer of free porn. I know how you feel, friend. I had two babies and I was sure after losing that much blood and being up 24 hours a day taking care of newborn, I was never going to have the desire to bone again. I remember dreading my six week check up, I didn't want the thumbs up to get frisky and I knew I couldn't lie to my man and tell him that the doctor had forbid me from getting laid for at least another 18 months. Just to be safe. She wouldn't say that and I would come home to a raging hard on. Here's how I got past my fear, lack of a sex drive and starting loving my husband again.
Ask for help and when he helps, let him do it his way. Let him rock the baby to sleep at night while you take a hot bath and shave your giant 70's bush.  It's a win win for everyone. You are physically preparing to be seen naked again and your husband gets to bond with the baby. Take him up on his offer to do anything you usually do. And bitch, please don't mother him about it, he is your husband not another kid to train. He won't do it your way but it will get done. End of story.
Stop hating your body. It does look different and for many of us that will not change, even with diet and exercise. My last child was born almost 7 years ago and I am in better shape than I have ever been, but I will always have extra belly fat and stretch marks. It is a reminder that I gave birth to two beautiful babies. I always think of my daughter when I start to complain about my stomach...I wonder what it would sound like to be in her shoes listening to me complain about what she did to my body? That must be a slap in the face. I get to love my body at many different sizes and be seen naked by the person I married at all different sizes. My husband gets to have great sex at all different weights, why can't I?
My last piece of advice has saved my marriage. Sex was our fight. Always. I wondered what was wrong with me, what was wrong with him and when it would get better. During one of our many counseling sessions, one of the therapists advised me to start my morning off by thinking about sex with my husband. To tone down my OCD tendencies during the day and give myself a rest so that when it was time to get hot and heavy, I wasn't exhausted. She told me to think about all the wonderful things my husband does, about when we first met, what qualities I loved about him and surprisingly enough, it worked. I took care of me when the sun was up and in turn, I was able to take care of business at night.
I realized that my need for perfection was keeping me from having amazing sex. I was spending so much time taking care of a baby and trying to be superhuman that I didn't make time for the other person who made this journey possible. I hated my chubby body and I had ridiculous expectations. That shit had to go out the window and fast. When I started asking for help and let go of every detail, I had energy to laugh and love.
It's completely fucking normal to need some time to heal and don't be afraid to share that with your partner but when it's time, don't let your insecurities keep you from getting a good romp in the sack. You need it as much as your man does. Maybe more, mama.