Yes, that’s right. This week marks one year since my vajayjay gave birth.
Although lots of families like to commemorate this day by celebrating the child that came into this world, personally, I think my dear girlfriend, Vee, really did all the work and should be given a gold fucking medal.
The thing is, I don’t think I will ever stop going on about giving birth. I think I forever have the right to pull the “yea, well I gave birth, what have you done?” card on basically anyone who hasn’t given birth.
I don’t mean to sound like a condescending bitch, despite my tone, but until you’ve done it, you can never know the stretch that your body, and especially the tiny, beautiful, wonderful vagina, can achieve, and the pain that accompanies it.
And I was one of the lucky ones! For some women, it’s not just a stretch – it’s a fucking explosion.
So it’s no wonder that women use this over their husbands and subsequently their children, their entire lives.
So why is no one celebrating me and my darling Vee? How come we aren’t getting the cake and the flowers and the presents?
How come no one makes Vee a tiny cardigan for the colder months or gets me frozen water filled condoms that I can put in my underwear to relieve the forever lasting effects of birth giving, like motherfucking hemorrhoids?
Everyone should be thanking me! Society should be thanking me for keeping it going! The children should be thanking me for housing them and expelling them safely!
And the Husband should be thanking me for taking one for the team, TWICE!
So no, we will not be celebrating my daughter’s birthday here.
We will be celebrating my vagina.
What I didn’t know was that it would feel like two bulldozers trying to leave my vajayjay and butthole.
Turns out it was just a baby and at 7cm dilation, I was calling the doctor, anesthetist, Jesus, who ever was available to come and take the pain away.
The epidural was in, I had a muffin, my doctor had some dinner and we commenced the pushing stage, also known as the Get the Fuck Out Of Me stage.
I pushed my little watermelon for an hour and a half before she made her grand appearance.
The second time was a little quicker
The second time I was SURE I wanted that epidural. I knew what birth giving felt like and I wasn’t interested.
But alas, the best laid plans don’t always come to fruition because I arrived to the hospital just in time for my second little watermelon to make her appearance.
11 minutes and five contractions later, my baby was out and my vajayjay was finally relieved.
And that is why we are celebrating my bits this week, and not the bulldozers that almost ruined them.
Happy Birthday, Vee!
You da best.
You bounced back when you could have exploded, sagged, ripped and stretched.
You and your buddies have gone to some great lengths and you have come back stronger than ever, keeping my pee in when I cough or laugh too hard, or jump.
Not once, but twice, you grew 600 times your size and managed to maneuver two giant baby heads through a passage that really doesn’t seem designed for that type of stretch, even though biology says it is.
Well you know what? Thank you, Vee, and fuck you science.
Tell me – have you given birth and do you celebrate your vagina?
Thanks for stopping by everyone and remember – don’t be a dick!
B. (and Vee)!