I haven’t written anything in almost a year because I don’t think I’m funny anymore. I once thought I was kind of funny, maybe even actually funny, and now I do not. I’m just your average awful middle-aged mom, wiping down countertops and changing diapers and being unfairly demanding of my loved ones and judgmental of my neighbors. I’m a boring ole biddy who can’t live up to her older, funnier self.
At least that’s what I thought. But I just went back and read some random posts from 2011 to 2015 and HOLY. Not good, not funny, only embarrassing. Do you know how grand a relief that is? To know that I was never that funny at all?! I feel liberated. Free to blog to my heart’s content, with no fear of failing short of any expectations. Congratulations to me!
With that happy news, I’d like to finally share a story I’ve wanted to tell for a while. The point of this story is strictly to bring shame upon my family—particularly my brother-in-law who was embarrassed by my last post about my boobs. IF YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS BAD, YOU’LL BE ESPECIALLY UPSET TO LEARN THAT…
I have a weird vaghina.
Quick editor’s note: I’m mostly going to use euphemisms and made-up/misspelled words to refer to my *downstairs* because I don’t want this post to show up in too many questionable Google searches.
OK, again: I have a weird vaghina.
I only found this out about a year ago, which is very surprising when you consider I’m a 30-year-old who’s had countless OB/GYNs check me out over the past decade or so. Actually, I will try to count them.
- Blonde lady gynecologist who only ever made small talk about ticks
- Old man gynecologist who told me I had a VERY COMMON, NOT STD rash around (not on!) my nether regions
- First obstetrician who had hideous clavicle tattoos and talked to me with a mouth full of food, the disgusting idiot
- Second OB, excellent and extremely tiny
- Random OB when the tiny one wasn’t available
- Another random one
- One more random one
- Dude OB with a nose ring who confirmed my water broke
That’s eight doctors. Eight doctors who have all seen hella pachinkos in their lives. Eight doctors who spent many years and hundreds of thousands of dollars studying them. These mofos probably take continuing education courses on, like, labias and pubic hair every year. And yet not a one of them ever told me that my pachinko looks different than most.
It wasn’t until moments after pushing out a small human, while simultaneously trying to attach his squirming mouth to my nipple and also getting my shredded undercarriage stitched up with a needle and thread, that anyone ever thought to mention it.
And the only reason I learned about it then is because there were two doctors down there—the resident who was practicing her backstitch and the incredibly mean on-call doctor who was teaching her—and they remarked on it amongst themselves. Here’s an excerpt from that moment in time:
Nurse, helping me breastfeed: OK, now, pinch your tiddy like this and shove it in there just… like… that! Oh, poo. Your nipple’s inside out.
Baby, crying: Who are you? Where is this? What is that? Why is world? When is how?
Doula, taking pictures: *Snap* *Snap* *Snap* We can crop out the blood! Your boobs look huge! *Snap* *Snap*
Baby Daddy, losing steam: Great job! You did so good! Cool if I take a nap before the Pats come on?
Doctor, instructing: All right, now stick the pointy end right through that dangling piece there.
Resident, stitching: Oops!
Doctor: No not that piece, this torn one here.
(What follows, unfortunately, is verbatim)
Resident: Got it. And what’s this?
Doctor: Not sure. I was going to get rid of it, but since she came with it I figured we’d leave it.
Let’s repeat that one time: NOT SURE. I WAS GOING TO GET RID OF IT, BUT SINCE SHE CAME WITH IT I FIGURED WE’D LEAVE IT.
And that’s it! That’s how I found out I have something extra down there? I have no idea. I wanted to follow up on that fun revelation but I was distracted by, u know, my brand new human and all the sharp instruments and hands poking around my ripped apart fajina.
I never even thought to follow up with my own doctor (the tiny, good one) when I saw her a few weeks after that for my post-delivery checkup. She took a gander down under, called it “beautiful” (HAHAHAHAH I wish I were kidding; she was talking about the healing but still, wicked gross), and then sent me on my way.
I finally got brave enough to take a mirror down there a couple months ago and I gotta say it is, um, pretty weird looking. Like, maybe a rogue flap or two? Or just heavy-duty asymmetry? I really, truly don’t know. I’m not interested in doing a Google search to compare it against more conventional hoohas. I mean—mine works, right? I got a really, really excellent baby out of it. We good!