Oh, ladies and gents… I’m just a regular mom, an average woman, and a “meh” wife trying to make it through this period of history without needing a bottle of tequila and a straight razor. Most days things are pretty mundane, my routine is depressing and monotonous. There is at least one part of each day where I’m fighting back tears; due to missing my family, discomfort, plain depression or the fact that it feels like my vagina is in the middle of an aggressive mosh pit at a concert I wasn’t invited to. It is super tragic and dull and pitiful. It’s just a big ol’ dumb cycle of emotional idiocy.
Fortunately, I have these moments of post-hilarity. Where tears turn into laughter at all the stupid little things going on in my life and all the stupid big things going on in the world. It turns out my life, my struggles and my pain are pretty hilarious. Honestly, you have to laugh at the things that are going on right now or you’ll drive yourself absolutely mad. So, thank the internet gods for meme’s and over sharers like me who put their feelings out there for everyone to laugh at, empathize with or simply not feel so alone in all of this madness going on in this era of our lives. So, have at it. Laugh at my expense this week (like many weeks) and remember to try and find humor in all the bullshit these days.
There have been some minor and major differences in the healthcare here in France than what I have been accustomed to back at home. Not really all bad, just different and at times shocking. Nothing that I haven’t been able to handle for the most part, just… different. Anyhow, a couple of months ago we found ourselves having some scary complications with our pregnancy. We were told to come in right away to get checked out. With out a second thought the hubs and I got ready and were out the door, headed to the doctors.
We went in and the doctor casually told me to pull down my pants and hop up on the table. No gown, no courtesy privacy to disrobe before spreading eagle, nothing. Just, drop’em, jump on up there and spread’em wide. It was alarming, the hubs and I shared a quick glance and realized that this is just how shit is done here. So, I womaned-up and did what I had to do all while my husband sat and watched from the expensive seats. It was awkward and uncomfortable to say the least. To top things off my lady bits hadn’t been manicured in quite a while considering I’ve lost sight of my vagina due to the growing human inside of me. We got past the moment and fortunately the baby and me are both healthy and doing well.
This brings me to the most recent sonogram I had scheduled. Morning of, I find myself in a bit of a rush to get showered and ready to go. As I went to the bathroom I realized that my “special area” still hadn’t been lady-scaped and considering the surprise breach during my last appointment I thought it would be best to attempt some light maintenance.
As I was sitting there trying to evaluate the situation I felt like a turtle on its back; moving my belly from side to side while simultaneously trying to get my boobs out of the way. I couldn’t see a freakin’ thing. My stomach is too big and stiff currently with the “miracle” and all taking up all kinds of real estate in the way of my lady bush. So, I decided to stand in front of a mirror to see what needed done. Oy, what a freakin’ sight I tell ya. Standing in front of the mirror, dealing with my situation head on in the largest mirror in our home. It was terrifying and quite eye opening to be honest.
I hesitated for a second, but decided I was skilled enough to trim my region while looking into the mirror. After the very first swoop I realized I had made a huge mistake. The positioning was awkward and the eye-hand coordination while staring into the mirror slightly hunched over was near impossible in my current state. However, after the first line made in the grass there was no way I could stop without looking like a complete maniac to the doctor. I was whisper screaming every curse word I knew. It was like a reverse mohawk! Like Larry from the Three Stooges had found his way into my lady business.
If my doctor was concerned about my lady bush at the last appointment, she’d be concerned about my mental health after todays visit. So, “she persisted!” I went at her as smoothly and quickly as my engorged state would allow. I was bending and twisting and trying to maneuver around my belly and breasts, when I hear my husband and five year old outside the bathroom door. “What’s Mommy Shaving?” I hear her ask the hubs and as he vaguely started to responded my hand slipped and I knew a fucked up big.
I fuckin’ cut myself, butchered myself in fact. The problem was I couldn’t even clearly see where I had gotten myself or how bad it was. I reached down to hold it, as one does when they hurt themselves, and when I pulled my hand away I saw blood on my hands. Mother fuckin’ fuck!!! Why the hell did I even attempt doing this on my own. The fact that I couldn’t see what was going on, and the pain of a cut adding to my already sensitive skin and muscles down there from the pelvic pressure.
“I want to give Mommy a hug!”
Are you fucking kidding me right now?! All I could imagine was my poor lady bits looking like uncooked ground beef down there! What the hell was I going to do? Now my kid is trying to convince my husband that she can’t go on with her morning without a hug from me.
“I’ll be done in a minute and I’ll come down and see you when I’m ready honey. Go eat your breakfast.”
I’m putting my leg up on my kids stool, bending and stretching in ways that got me into this mess in the first place. My heart is beating out of my chest, because I’m going to be late, I haven’t showered yet, and I still I can’t see a damn thing. Again, What the fuckin’ fuck?!? Finally, I heard my family walking down the stairs, and I was thankful that my kids persistence of wanting to come in and give me a hug was deterred by my husband. Surely he knew what was going on and he knew I needed a damn minute.
I got as close to the mirror as possible, vadge first – to see what the hell was going on. I wiped the blood which seemed to have stopped and I saw the horror that was my poor lady bits. She looked like a damn venus fly trap; smooth shell amongst the curves, and jagged thorns (hair) around the opening of her mouth. It was a freakin’ nightmare! I wasn’t even sure if I could bend in a way to fix what was going on down there. I didn’t even want to in fear of mangling my poor vadgey even more.
After several minutes of contorting my body, sweating profusely and going at her with surgeon like precision I finally got her looking okay. As in okay enough for a pregnant woman whose whole bottom region has been sore and swollen for weeks. Damn you pelvic pressure, damn you straight to hell! She definitely wasn’t what she once was my friends, but alas she was there. She was ready for viewing and medical purposes by my young and beautiful French doctor who would absolutely need a glass of wine after seeing me today.
My back was hurting from the odd positions I had to put myself in, I think the one stomach muscle I have left was sore and I believe I pulled an inner thigh muscle. Oy, and my pride – what is pride? Just shame and soreness. All that because I wanted to pretty up my bits for a doctor. What a freakin’ debacle; all for vanity and guilt over damn hair that grows out of my body whether I want it to or not!
I got showered and dressed, and the hubs got the kid all ready and we were off for my vaginas freshly landscaped debut. We get to the doctor and we are going through the normal motions of a visit and she never once asked me to drop trough and jump up on the table. HUGE face palm. As our appointment was coming to an end I could hear my poor mangled bits screaming, “Why?! Why did you put us through that you dumb, dumb bitch!” The entire way home my bits throbbed and the embarrassment and shame I felt towards myself could’ve swallowed me whole.
By the time we got home all I could do was laugh at myself. How freakin’ ridiculous I must’ve looked trying to trim the ol’lady bush. Should’ve been a movie scene really. Obviously someone who was in better shape, sans stretch marks and cellulite would be cast to play me. And without a doubt I would be in tears laughing at how unbelievably confident and stupid the character had to be to put a shaver to her secret garden with a ginormous boulder and tits like melons blocking her view. What a stupid, beautiful idiot she would be.