Having babies is hard. I mean PHYSICALLY having them. You know… forcing them down the birth canal and out of your vagina? Or having them torn from your midsection? Yeah, that kind of physical (i’m sure that’s not what you meant, Olivia Newton John, but work with me here).
It’s a tough business, but somehow we manage through it… not always unscathed, mind you- but we at least come out the other side. Or they do.
I’m not going to sit here and whine about how I had the WORST BIRTHING EXPERIENCES EVER, OMG! But listen- they sucked.
The ending was pretty cool, but it’s the getting there that is the sucktacular part. With the worst being the double snip my hoo-ha got the first time, and the second time where the scar from the double skip ripped like an old soggy bandaid.
Did you cringe? My bad. Imagine how my vag feels.
You’d think, with the graphic depiction of vaginal tearing due to gigantic baby heads, that my doctors would take pity on my poor soul. You’d think wrong. Rat bastards.
Let me tell you how bad it’ll burn your bloody va-jay to get home from the hospital and suffer through sitz baths and trying to wipe stitches without anything to lessen the pain, and then hearing stories about how pretty much everyone else on the face of the planet who ever popped out a kid got pain killers. The good kind. Just not you.
Talk about a kick in the pants.
I guess the second time around, the hospital took pity on me. NO, they didn’t give me any drugs- but they did give me a numbing spray. Seemed slightly ridiculous to me at first- how in the holy hell is THIS going to help? But let me tell you. That little tin can quickly became my BFFL. Got after-birth poo fright? Spray that sucker down and you won’t feel a damn thing! Ran out of gigantic half pad half ice pack doodads? Give your swollen bits a good old fashioned spray down.
Once the pain relented, stitches dissolved, bits shrunk back down to normal size- I DID NOT MISS IT- but I did miss my fabulous little spray bottle. I guess it was kind of a nostalgia thing. Or Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe just deep, pure, unadulterated admiration.
Go fig, you make someone’s vagina feel good and it forms an attachment to you. Hmmmm…
BUT- I didn’t have to get knocked up and blow out my vagina in order to see my beloved again, oh no! Have no fear y’all, because the hoo-ha spray is the McGuyver of sprays.
Kid falls down and scrapes their knee? HOO-HA SPRAY TO THE RESCUE! Of course, for them I changed the name to “boo-boo spray”- y’know.. why scar a kid for life if you don’t have to?
Irritate your hiney after an angry poo? HOO-HA SPRAY WILL SAVE THE DAY!
Terrible hideous can’t-even-fucking-touch-it-but-it-itches-SO-BAD leper like rashy sunburn? Two words… well.. maybe three, depending on how you look at it: HOO.HA.SPRAY.
Yeah, that’s right. I use a spray that was once solely for the purpose of vagina numbing on my kids booboos and my retched sunburn. Don’t judge!
The “Are You Ready to Have Kids?” Checklist of Doom goo.gl/fb/DTPJ1A
If anyone asks how I died, you can just go ahead and tell them "she was lured in by free pie in exchange for listening to 2nd graders screech Thanksgiving songs for 30 minutes"
I'm not saying this is the perfect #Christmas gift for all the parents in your life, but.... okay, yeah I am. That's exactly what I'm saying. Truths from the bowels of parenthood! amazon.com/Kids-Are-Turds…
@Gofashiondeals All of that and more. Good times. Gooooood times