To Wax, or not to wax…


Back in my first trimester, I briefly pondered the idea of a bikini wax.   Before the plus sign I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but at the time I was barfing 4-5 times daily, and blowing chunks into rapidly hardening hot wax covering my private areas seemed like something that deserved a moment’s consideration.    Then there was the issue of this “increased blood flow” to the region that happens while pregnant.   At the time a quick survey of all the women I knew who had recently been pregnant came back with a resounding TRY A RAZOR, so I put the issue to bed and proceeded to do my own grooming.

But, uh…now I’m at that point in my pregnancy where…err…safely reaching my lady bits has become a bit of a challenge.    You know how I said I can no longer see my lower-belly tattoo?   Well, suffice it to say that I can’t see what’s going on below that tattoo either.   So the question arises again…to wax, or not to wax.    As I consider this very important issue (I mean…I can’t be walking into Labor and Delivery looking like I’ve got disco fever, now can I?) I can’t help but remember one particularly brutal waxing session that took place a few days before my wedding, and shudder from the sheer horror of it.

Her name was Angelique, and she worked at this fancy new salon around the corner from my house.   She came highly recommended, and while some may think it was ill-advised for me to try a new beautician just a few days before my wedding, that’s kind of just how I roll.   I arrived, and as she ushered me back to her waxing studio she leaned in like she had a secret: “I just got this great new wax – It takes a little longer to cool, but it’s about half as painful, if you don’t mind.”  Half as painful?   Oh happy day.    Count me in.

Now for anyone who has never experienced the sensation of hot wax hardening over your private areas (ie: french women, straight men, and hippies) let me tell you that it can be rather unsettling, and is certainly something that you are looking to have happen as quickly and painlessly as possible.

…And to avoid any future confusion, ANGELIQUE, that’s A) quickly, and B) painlessly, yes in that order, and yes, I do mind!

What I am NOT looking for when I walk in to your salon THE WEEK OF MY WEDDING for what may well be the MOST IMPORTANT BIKINI WAX OF MY LIFE is for you to glue those silly paper panties you just handed me to my effing labia with this new-fangled-slow-cooking wax.  Nor am I looking for you to unceremoniously give that wax, and those panties the hardest yank you can muster, nearly tearing off half of my lady parts in the process.  And what I am really seriously defnitely not looking for is for you to then cut those stupid paper panties off of me only to pluck my slow-cooling wax covered pubic hair out one by one for AN HOUR AND A FREAKING HALF as a result.

I walked out of there hobbling like a cowboy and feeling like I had just taken a power-sander to the cooch.   I was lucky to heal in time for the big day…and it took me months before I was ready to brave the waxing table (someone ELSE’S waxing table) again.   So, you can see why I might hesitate to relive that experience with a belly the size of texas and that infamous increased blood flow.

So I ask again…to wax, or not to wax?   Is it worth it?   Any tips?   Can you use that numbing stuff while you’re carrying a child?

(Now excuse me while I crawl under my bed at the thought of any of the men in my life who might read this and weep at the very mention of me even having parts that would necessitate a bikini wax.   Sorry guys.   Although on the bright side, I’m pretty sure I scared my Dad off for good with my Dildo post, so there’s one less weeping man for me to worry about.)

(Oh, and no – that picture is not of me.   There is no way in hell I would let a guy who looks like ex-KGB wax me, let alone post a picture of it on the internet…although I’m sure he’s very quick and efficient about it.)

Feed Me Seymour