Five years ago, catching up with my girlfriends over drinks usually meant we would touch upon three pressing topics. Those almighty pillars of conversation when you're in your late 20s are career, dating and sex. Somewhere along the line our conversation has shifted. Pregnancy and childbirth are hot topics these days, particularly among those of us whose viable child-bearing years are slipping away.
You never really hear about all the gory details until someone who will be straight with you has a baby. Someone other than your mother who tells you it was the most magical moment of her life. And then of course, there's YouTube. Ladies, if you're planning a family, do not — I repeat — do not look up "water birth" on YouTube.
Just you wait, all you coy 20-somethings, it'll happen to you too. As soon as a few of your peers start pumping out infants, it's amazing how this topic seems to sneak its way into every brunch, every happy hour, every time you get together with your girls. It's only natural for this to occur, as women are champs at collectively sharing their fears and experiences. The biggest fear for me, however, is what might happen to my vagina should I choose to have a child.
Call me selfish, call me unfeeling, and call me self-absorbed. But the prospect of ambushing my vagina in such a barbaric manner is not at all appealing, despite this whole miracle of birth business. What's truly a miracle is that women manage to recover, physically and psychologically, from such torture. Could you imagine if men were responsible for carrying our young and their genitalia were at risk of being stretched or ripped? The human race would in affect become extinct.
Among some of the horror stories I've been privy to are tales of having your vag ripped from here to here, urinary incontinence, hemorrhoids and all sorts of other goodies. Sign me up!
You often hear of these noble women who vow to forgo drugs, have a natural — and silent!? — birth, all for the greater good of their child. What the f&%k is wrong with these women? There is no shame in taking advantage of all the wondrous advances in medicine where childbirth is concerned. Suck in some laughing gas and have a few hits of morphine, childbirth could be a real trip — literally!
I for one would schedule a C-section. Before all you mothers out there gasp and accuse me of being too posh to push, hear me out. My vagina has always been there for me, through thick and thin. Some of the best times of my life have involved my vagina. We have a very close bond. So don't I owe my vagina the decency of avoiding such brazen butchery?
The argument I most often hear is that you can't go back to the gym for six weeks, and that recovery takes forever. What's this you say — no gym for six weeks? No sweating my bag off on the treadmill for a whole month and a half? Sounds pretty good to me. What have my abs done for me lately, anyway? Spilled out over the top of my jeans creating an ever so attractive muffin top? Coaxed (but not yet convinced) me to buy Spanx? Hindered my wine consumption? My abs have done nothing in comparison to the sheer happiness my vagina has brought me. I have no loyalty to my abs whatsoever.
Next time you hear a gal say she's opting for a C-section, don't judge her. She may have to put her gym bunny status on hold, but her vagina will remain happily unscathed.