My Bare Lady

Despite my best attempts at living in denial, I have to concede that I need to start preparing myself somewhat for what’s about to happen.  Even if I tried to avoid it, the daily What To Expect and Bump.com e-mails that flood my inbox would rub my nose in it.  It’s like trying to avoid a really big spoiler, such as who won the World Series.  Unless you put yourself into quarantine, it ain’t happening.

This may sound really silly but in addition to the fear of pain and process of labor and delivery (and yes, I have plenty of that to go around), I’m having some serious misgivings about my hoo-ha being exposed to half of the city of Baton Rouge.  I know, I know.  No one really cares about my vagina.  The medical personnel that will be present have seen hundreds or thousands of them.  But this one is mine.

Modesty is a hell of a thing to overcome mentally.  Even during normal checkups, I absolutely hate the idea of being “nekkid” (yes, it should be “nekkid” vs. naked in this sense) in front of anyone.  It’s just one of the myriad of reasons that I have avoided doctors for most of my adult life.  I’m not sure why I’m so uptight, but boy, am I.  In any event, a lady’s nether region is something that is often portrayed as sacred.  Ladies sit with their legs crossed.  Only tramps wear skirts so short that one would be in danger of exposing something if you moved suddenly or bent over to pick up your keys.  Britney doesn’t wear underwear, and the paparazzi were scandalized.  Look at the whole virgin birth thing.  That’s a pretty powerful sociological message. 

I’ve spoken to tons of moms out there, and I’m assured that A) once you go into labor, and B) once you have actually had one child, these sorts of concerns are out the window.  You simply won’t care if they flash your goodies on the JumboTron.  Well, I’m not there yet.  I have these nightmares of traffic being diverted just to allow maximum exposure as I flail in the stirrups. 

Ok, Carly Simon.  I need a remake.  “You’re so vain.  You probably think this song is about your vagina.”  Except it’s not vanity, of course.  Just deeply-ingrained hang-ups.  Got anything for that?

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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