There are hundreds of thousands of books out there about pregnancy and childbirth, maybe millions, but what they don’t tell you is more important than what they do tell you.
It’s all a universal conspiracy because if we as women knew the truth beforehand, we’d never let a man armed with a penis near our vaginas, and that is the real truth. And believe me, I know, because I was there, and despite the brainwashing drugs and happy-hormones, I remember…
What They Tell You
Every single “I’m Having A Baby,” “Pregnancy for Dummies,” or some such book people delight in giving newly pregnant woman is chock full of great advice. Do prenatal yoga, Lamaze class, be good, take your preggy vitamins, and on that wonderful day, your baby will miraculously – and painlessly – slide out.
Then some loving and lovable health care personage will place the precious bundle in your arms, while a chorus of nurses sings Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” to a Reggae beat, using bedpans for percussion instruments. That’s what I was expecting…
What Really Happens
So 8 months after the happy day I saw that little pink cross on the preggy test, I was at this dinner party. Suddenly something exploded. A gush of liters of amniotic fluid and whatnot immediately soaked into my hostess’ Louis XVI newly and expensively upholstered chair. (I never heard from her again).
I was then rushed to the maternity ward, where I proceeded to reenact that freaky scene from “Alien.” You know where the guy starts screaming, and bugging out his eyes and foaming at the mouth while some creature squirms and tugs and looks like it is going to explode his body from the inside out?
Things I Never Knew About My Vagina
I didn’t explode, but it felt like it. An OB nurse came up to me and said: “I am going to poke into your vagina to see if you have dilated.” She frowned like it was my fault, and said angrily: “You haven’t dilated. Have some fake hormones.” And then I really screamed because the bloody stuff makes you climb the walls.
I screamed for a bit, but no, the kid wouldn’t come out. Apparently a thing I didn’t even know I had called a bloody cervix wasn’t working right. So I’m laying there and it’s 2 am, and the cleaning lady walks past and says: “Hey are you screaming because your cervix doesn’t dilate? Because my cat had that problem and she still had 7 kittens without screaming as much.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, a woman with a mustache or maybe it was a guy with boobs came by and said: “You are too slow and you can’t have an anesthetic. But even if you were faster you couldn’t have one either. The anesthesiologist went home, he had a bachelor party. And who told you to have a malfunctioning cervix anyway? Man up and stop screaming already.”
The “man up thing” really confused me considering my situation, and then another woman came and made me walk to the delivery room. No-one there looked like any of the medical staff I’d seen in the books or videos, not at all.
Unstuffing The Turkey
Then they strapped my legs up, and there I was like a turkey about to be stuffed, but not really, if you know what I mean. This guy with a mask put in a big suction cup and still the kid wouldn’t come out. They swore a bit and pulled out these great big metal thingies that look a bit like the pincers you use on a barbecue and poked them into my vagina.
And let me tell you, it hurt like hell on earth. Then for about two hours – or at least it felt like it – seven or eight different people peered into my vagina and asked each other if they had ever seen such a lousy cervix. So I screamed: “Why don’t you call in the janitor too?” And the one guy at the back said: “Lady, I am already here.”
Armed With The Truth
Just when I thought I’d die, POP! out came this kid 54 cm long and pink. Everyone started cooing and saying “Oh how pretty!” They forgot all about me and my bleeding cervix. No-one sang “Isn’t She Lovely.” They just stitched up my poor mangled vagina. The guy doing the stitching even whistled.
Then they wheeled me back and handed my baby to me. The woman with the mustache cooed at me: “This is the best moment of your life! You will never forget it!” And I never did. My daughter is an only child, any guesses why?
I am sharing this with you because I believe it’s my civic duty. We women must be armed with the truth to face the greatest challenge female biology confronts us with. So take my advice, when you get to that crucial defining moment of your life as a woman, whip out a gun. Demand an epidural – let them keep the joys of natural childbirth for themselves.