Tuesday, May 10, 2011

It's complicated

This gorgeous photo (not of me) from the brilliant Ingrid Franz Moriarty

Got this comment on the post yesterday. Love it. And after much deliberation I WILL  be taking an eyelash curler in my hospital bag, along with my knee high suntan reinforced toe pantyhose (thanks for the idea Smacksy): 

"OK, as part of the Knapp Posse, Michigan Division, I just HAVE to respond to this. First of all, totally agree that it's nobody's bidness what happens in, on, or around my vagina--or anyone's. Having said that, I really must share a Viking story with you. My tight-ass sister-in-law (first marriage) gained my unending devotion when, during her birth video, her husband caught her spraying out her hair before they left for the hospital. Everyone in the family made fun of her, except me. This was a woman who knew life's biggest photo op was on the way, and she wasn't going to entertain posterity with flat bangs. That's Viking nerve, in my book. 

Also, can I just say that my idea of men was permanently altered by birthing class stories--some for the better, others for the worse. My college bf reported that he nearly passed out at the first sign of blood *on the screen.* He left the screening room, got a drink at the fountain, and hit his noggin on the ceramic bowl so hard his wife found him prone on the linoleum after class. Scratch that guy off my "What If" list. These are the moments that make women. They make men. Here's hoping you treat yourself to a spa pedicure, and that Jack's little brother arrives soon! Hope to meet you on the lake one summer.... Veronica"

My doctor told me that she hears from some patients that they're husbands never want to have sex with them again after the birth of their children, because they can't see them as sexual beings ever again. To which I say BALLS. I get it, sex is complicated. People have all kinds of hang ups and reservations. But DUDES, seriously? You did that! It's like you made a mess in the kitchen, and then said "Ugh, let's just buy a new house, rather than do the dishes. Ok that's a terrible analogy. It's more like you invaded Iraq, and then said "Ugh, this country is a mess, I'd rather go steady with France." Better? Whatevs, you know what I'm saying. 

That having been said I heard a story about a friend of a friend, whose husband was mad at her because she didn't want to have sex a week after their 1st child was born. Uhm... Dude, you bombed the fertile crescent! Give it a minute! 

Not to be too squishy, but it's a-fucking-mazing what the female body can do. Not a brag, bc, you know I didn't invent the uterus. It's also amazing that I haven't touched a garbage can, a gas pump, or been pummeled by our son (rough housing is strictly daddy's arena) in years. Grateful for my ovaries, and kick ass husband who loves me, our kids, and my body, just as it is... I for one hope he never loses his cute butt, because I'd hate to have to start dating Singapore. (still no good, huh? I'll work on it)

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