The Ultimate Workout

A little while ago I wrote a post about vaginas and how pregnancy RUINS EVERYTHING in
that particular department. Well, enough whining, ’cause a little ago I watched Weeds and
discovered something called vaginal weights. Yup, weights for your vagina. Then Tightrope
Mama told me she was at a baby shower where someone gave them as a gift. I threatened
to get some for her after she pops out Number Two. But first I needed more information. The
Interweb obliged.

So, apparently you stick a weighted cone up your hoo-ha, and your pelvic muscles automatically contract to hold it in. Or they might. If you have to work to keep it from falling out, well, there’s your workout, and you keep working with that weight until your pelvic muscles hold it in on their own, for 15 minutes a go. Most of the sites I came across advised against walking around in the world whilst lifting your weight, just in case. It falls out. On the ground, in front of people.

And then you move up to a slightly heavier weight and do it all again. It’s called “pelvic floor
re-education.” Awesome. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. And clenching. That’s probably
all the pelvic floor re-education I can handle for now, until I can get motivated to start running
again, or cold and flu season sets in.

But if you’re interested, I found two purveyors: vagacare and ladysystem. Neither come in cheery hot pink like the one on Weeds, but just buying something called Lady System should be adorable enough. (Speaking of adorable names, I got much of my info from the adorably named site laughing without leaking) And if you’ve actually used them, pleeease tell me: is it a brilliant push present or what?

-East End Mama

[image: Queen of the Barbells via tumblr]

I Feel Bad About My Vagina

I’m not exactly aware of my body, as a rule. I don’t make connections between food and mood or weather and headaches or any of that stuff, so it’s not surprising that I’m not too familiar with the area down there. I’ve never looked in a hand mirror out of curiosity, for instance. Ignorance is bliss. That goes double post-pregnancy, I assume, so I’m not going to start. But I am now very aware of what’s going on down there.

This blog is all about honesty, after all; the brutal, gory truth. So here’s the truth: my vagina’s
changed, and I don’t like it. I had a pretty easy birth, really, so if my vagina sucks, I can only
imagine what happens to women who are stuck in active labour for hours. I was in active labour for about 45 minutes, and much of that time was spent in the car trying to not be in active labour. Mind you, 45 minutes didn’t give me a lot of time to limber up, so to speak, and you can bet I wasn’t engaging in perineal massage in the weeks preceding, but the damage was minimal, so I figured I got off pretty easy. Right?

Well, for one thing, “get off easy” is not a phrase in my vocabulary now. Getting off is far from
easy. I haven’t had a decent orgasm since I was pregnant. (Weren’t those awesome, though? Many of my top ten orgasms of all time happened while I was pregnant.) Never mind the exhaustion and the body image issues and the complete lack of interest. Just the basic act of sex is a chore, with little reward. This really bums me out. I read something recently comparing post-pregnancy sex to going to the gym: you have to force yourself to do it, but you always feel great after. Not so! Things have changed, and almost two years later we still haven’t figured it out. Probably from lack of practice — not enough trial, too much error. Sigh. I do not want it to be like this, but there it is.

I know I should do Kegels, and I try, I really do, but after two and a half years I still haven’t
mastered the bloody things, and they’re clearly not working well enough. I can actually relate to those godawful commercials with Kirstie Alley as the pee fairy. Although I haven’t actually gone out and purchased such a product. That would be the last straw. Instead, I sit when I sneeze or laugh or blow my nose, and I’ve pretty much given up on running, my favourite pre-pregnancy sport.

But the most disturbing change by far is that my tampons don’t fit. I have to buy “super” now.
Gross. I know it’s not actually gross, it’s natural, but in my mind anything extra-large brings on big-time body image anxiety. Interesting note, though: once when I was in Italy, I unexpectedly got my period and had to visit the pharmacy. I bought the same brand and size as ever, but when I got back home and slipped them into a little carrying case I have (so they’re not tumbling around the bottom of my purse like my mother’s always did, along with restaurant mints and tubes of Chapstick — blech), I noticed they were very different from the ones I’d bought at home. Definitely longer and thicker. I was a little confused at the time, but now I think I know why: “regular” European women have had children. In North America, once you’ve given birth, your vagina is no longer regular. It’s distorted and distended and extra-large. Or maybe that’s the wrong attitude, just my self-doubt talking. Maybe I need to re-imagine vaginas. Maybe, instead, once we’ve given birth, our vaginas are “super”!

-East End Mama