Mommy, what's a Kegel?

Whew! What a week. I had a post-partum exam, helped host three dinner parties and halfway cleaned my house. I’m exhausted … and full. I guess I’ll have to start that diet next week.

I checked out fine at the doc’s office. After I had Sophia, I wasn’t so lucky. I had a bad tear (they said second degree, but what the hell does that mean) and apparently it wasn’t healed. Doc said he was going to put on some “medicine.” Then he asked me to do a Kegel so he could test my vaginal muscle tone. I did one. “Try again,” he said sternly. Another one. “You’re going to have to do a lot more Kegels to get back your muscle tone,” he warned.

I was completely humiliated. I’d been doing a lot of Kegels every day, but apparently it wasn’t enough. This was not good news in terms of how I might fair that night in the bedroom! I’d already made big plans with Chris for that night – our friend, Natalie, was going to baby sit so we could go out for the first time and get busy. Now, my mind was reeling with the news that my muscle tone had been shot to hell, and wasn’t likely to come back anytime soon.

I stumbled out of the office in a daze. Next thing I know, I’m in the bathroom in the hallway in terrible pain and bleeding! Whatever that “medicine” was, it hurt like getting stitched back up again after giving birth! Kegels or no Kegels, my big romantic plans were ruined.

I had a feeling that this time around I would check out OK, but I didn’t make any big plans so as not to jinx myself. I did, however, do tons of Kegels, and embark upon a massive hair removal project. It’s unbelievable how much hair can grow on the human body after weeks of neglect. When Gus was about two or three weeks old I remember realizing that I had simply forgotten to shave anything, including my armpits. I took a shower, was scrubbing myself and noticed I suddenly had armpits like Madonna’s circa 1986. How long they’d been like that, I can’t tell you. I shaved them off with some difficulty, then noticed my legs were also getting out of hand. I decided to let ‘em go until the six-weeks post partum check up so they would be nice and smooth.

Anyway, it took like an hour to get rid of all the hair that had grown – for several months in some spots. I think I went through two razors (I am, after all, ¼ Italian). It felt great – I must’ve been five pounds lighter! I felt almost on the verge of sexy, despite my stubborn tummy flab, the angry-looking stretch marks on my hips and my crazy-huge boobs. But as I was rubbing on some post-shave lotion, I made a terrible discovery: more stretch marks.

At first, I thought they were just those marks you get from sitting in one spot for too long or wearing too-tight jeans. But no. I had little stretch marks all up and down my inner thighs. Again, I can’t tell you how long they’d been there. My guess is that they’d been there from almost the beginning of my pregnancy with Gus, but I didn’t notice them – maybe they’d been hidden by all of the hair all along! Maybe I was in denial. Whenever they arrived, seeing them right before I was about to be weighed, have my vaginal muscle tone assessed and proclaimed able to have sex again was devastating to my already fragile sex-esteem.

This time around, however, the Doc didn’t test my muscle tone. He quickly proclaimed that I could have sex again without any restrictions. The whole thing was anti-climactic, except he offered to put me on the mini pill (I can’t remember now if he said micro or mini, so I’ll have to look it up). “Why the hell didn’t they give this to me after Sophia?” was my first thought, but I kept it to myself since there’s really no point in worrying about that now. Doc also gave me a referral to a Snip Doctor for Chris’ vasectomy. In a few short weeks, maybe a couple months, I can have worry-free sex for the first time in my life. Yippee!!!! Now, all I have to do is get us to want to have sex again.

Yes, it’s been almost a week since I was given the go ahead to get busy, and there’s no busy-ness in sight. It’s a weird deal. I can’t pin it down on any one thing. I don’t really care too much about the newfound stretch marks and I’m already used to dealing with the big belly.

I’m not chomping at the bit to get busy because I sort of wish the Doc would’ve checked my muscle tone. That way, I would know for sure if it wasn’t up to par. Now, there’s no way of really knowing. Chris won’t tell me the truth – no father can tell the mother of his children this type of news! It’s way worse than asking someone if they look fat in their old prom dress, let me assure you.

As for Chris, I can’t tell you exactly why he isn’t chomping at the bit. Could it be that I didn’t shower or change out of my pajamas for two days straight after my visit to the Doc Monday (hmmm…interesting psychological implications here)? Could it be that Gus sleeps a few inches away from us? Could it be that by the time we get to bed we’re so exhausted we can’t read more than a few pages in our books before falling asleep?

Let’s just say that Chris’ lack of interest isn’t necessarily comforting. Now, when we do have sex, there’s going to be all this wonder and doubt built up. Worse yet, I’m going to have to shave everything all over again!