If there’s one thing I remember reading about pregnancy and childbirth it had to do with the obligatory ‘healing’ period before a penis should go anywhere near a vagina. If my studies had been accurate, a Thanksgiving turkey was going to violently exit my body…so what the hell further damage was an Oktoberfest going to do?! (Sorry about the food references, I missed lunch.)
Well…then I gave birth, and I got it. The whole thing is so fucking traumatizing that no matter how that baby finds its way into the world the last thing I would possibly want is a penis going anywhere near my vagina. The weeks passed, the sleepless, tireless, exhausting, stressful crazy weeks passed. Weeks of doing nothing I’ve ever spent any amount of time doing in my life prior to giving birth, and then it occurred to me how different my life was. I didn’t even feel like the same person. Nothing, with the exception of showering and eating was the same as before.
That’s when this little fear crept in…what if I never have another orgasm?? What if this has irreversibly fucked up my parts and they just don’t work anymore? I needed to get to the bottom of it…basically I needed to do something that the ‘pre-baby’ Kristin would also have done, polishing off a poutine and buffalo chicken wrap notwithstanding. The sex needed to happen. I was so scared. I was scared that it would be painful, I was scared that I would feel the scars tearing open that had only so freshly healed. I was scared that my husband would say I had a gaping vag. Thankfully….the latter didn’t happen (he was being kind, it’s gotta be looser right?!) Yes it did feel a tad uncomfortable, at first. No my tears didn’t re-tear. But I finally got the closure I was so desperately seeking….’I still work!!!!…thank christ.’ Yes I said that, post coital.
We laughed. I was so relieved. That was the beginning of me coming to terms with the fact that yes, life was very different but you are still you…..and you can still polish off a poutine and buffalo chicken wrap to boot.