Lifestyle
Following the birth of my first child, I can confidently say that my heart has never felt more complete. However, my vagina? That’s a different story.
During my six-week postpartum examination, my doctor began with a rather disheartening remark: “Well, this is unfortunate.” Not exactly the reassurance you want to hear when you’re dealing with numerous healing stitches in such an intimate area and haven’t yet mustered the courage to inspect the aftermath yourself. It was almost as alarming as when she asked, “Where’s the other needle?” after stitching me up. The frantic thirty seconds spent searching for that needle were just as nerve-wracking as labor itself.
To clarify, my doctor is fantastic. I had the luck of a shift change during my labor—what a joy!—and while my first doctor stepped out, my baby lingered in the birth canal for a few tense hours. The new doctor arrived, introduced herself, and promptly delivered my baby within minutes. Now that’s what I call excellent service.
So, what was the issue? “The stitches in your labia didn’t hold.”
Great. I figured my eagerness to start postpartum exercises, like squats, to strengthen my pelvic floor muscles was perhaps premature. I wanted to avoid the awkwardness of peeing myself at every laugh or sneeze. Maybe I had overdone it?
“Here, take a look.” She casually handed me a mirror so I could see the reality for myself. To spare the details, let’s just say that the left interior edge of my labia, which should have been smooth, looked like it was split in two. The top part had essentially become a separate entity. I now had what could only be described as a labial flap.
“I have a flap.”
“Well, we can always fix it when you have your next child!” Seriously? I’m expected to endure this entire ordeal a second time just to remedy my labial situation?
After the appointment, I sat in my car, resting my head on the steering wheel, and cried for a brief moment (my six-week-old baby was in the back, wailing away). I mourned the loss of my pre-baby vagina, which felt emblematic of the profound changes that motherhood had ushered into my life.
I tried venting to my mom friends about it, but they didn’t seem particularly sympathetic. When a group of us gathered and the conversation shifted to the wildest birth stories, my labial flap didn’t even register. One friend had endured a fourth-degree tear. She candidly shared, “My vagina and butthole became one.” Another friend labored for three days with a ten-pound baby.
Since my perineum remained intact, my plight seemed to generate little sympathy.
On the bright side, my husband has never mentioned anything about it (to me, at least). And since it’s improbable that I’ll become a model or a porn star, I can safely assume I’ll avoid public scrutiny over this issue. However, I wish I could say that I don’t worry about it anymore, or that I regard it like some women view their stretch marks—symbols of a fierce mother. But I don’t feel like a warrior. My situation is more akin to a peculiar hairless cat—cuddly, yet undeniably odd.
Just when I start to forget about my flap and feel more comfortable in my postpartum body, it unexpectedly gets caught or tugged, sending a brief twinge of discomfort my way. It’s as if it’s mocking me, reminding me that I’m not that same, sexy woman I used to be before motherhood.
I know, I know. This is where someone might say, “You’re still attractive! Motherhood is beautiful!” Some may encourage me to embrace it. (Or toughen up, as some might say.) I believe that while certain changes—like stretch marks or a looser vagina—are part of the pregnancy process, a labial flap is not something I should have to accept.
Sometimes, coming to terms with your postpartum body is simply not feasible.
So, I found myself pregnant again just six months after giving birth to my first. Whenever someone inquires about the spacing of my children, I tell them the truth: I wanted to conceive again immediately because I couldn’t stand my labial deformity and wanted it repaired, pronto.
That usually leaves them speechless. Okay, okay, that’s not the only reason, but when I’m particularly overwhelmed by the challenges of raising two children under two, I can’t deny it’s a small comfort.
I might not sleep for years, I might be drowning in diapers for what feels like eternity, and I might be waiting until they’re out of the house to re-enter the dating scene. But at least I’ll have a well-healed vagina this time around. And those stitches better hold.
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In summary, my journey through motherhood has been filled with unexpected changes, both emotionally and physically. While I may not be able to fully embrace my new body just yet, I’m determined to fix what I can. Here’s to the ongoing journey of motherhood and all its challenges.