Well, Hello.   Today I’m guest blogging over at the illustrious Heir to Blair. Don’t know Blair?   (SNORT.   OF COURSE YOU DO.)  She’s a lovely Southern gal with a taste for profanity, who’s a dynamo in both the kitchen and the sack, so y’know, your basic nightmare.   (Okay, so I’m speculating about the sack part…and the kitchen part too, since she lives on the other side of the country, but she posts mouth-watering recipes and has a handsome husband, so you do the math.)

Anyway, if you’ve never read Blair, you really should.   Like, NOW.   (But come back, okay?)

And if you’re one of Blair’s readers, then WELCOME!    I hope you’ll settle in with a good snack and get to know The818:

GROWING A HUMAN:   All posts about my pregnancy.   Witness my transformation from regular twenty-something to chubby curmudgeon.

DIY STUFF:  Posts in which I mostly take credit for my husband’s talent and creativity.   Like Delilah’s hacked Ikea crib (which was named one of the Top Ten Reader Projects of 2009 by OhDeeDoh, did you see?!)  Or my cubicle built entirely from Expedit Shelving.    There’s more, too.   Click HERE.

BRIDAL HAS-BEEN:   Posts in which I talk about weddings.    Mine, and other peoples.    There are pictures.    LOTS of pictures.

What else do you want to read about?   Bikini Waxing in Pregnancy? Which family member had a wardrobe malfunction doing the Hora at My Bat-Mitzvah? Why Bret Michaels is a Grade-A-Mega-Douche?   (Like you don’t already know…)   There’s a whole list of categories to be explored up and to the right.

Oh, and:   Follow me on Twitter! Or Google Friend Connect! Or just plain’ old SUBSCRIBE! AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LEAVE A COMMENT!

(I hope I’m not coming off too needy.   I’m really not like that, I swear.)

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“THE HUSBAND STITCH.”

[REPOSTED FROM THEHEIRTOBLAIR]

When Blair told me my guest blogging stint would be a free-for-all (read: no assigned topic) my mind instantly started to sizzle with possibility.   My immediate reaction was to seize the opportunity to talk smack about all of the people in my life who I can’t talk smack about on my own blog because they read it…But I thought that might be in poor taste and Blair’s a classy gal.  [Editors Note:  Just kidding.  I would totally never talk smack about any of you guys.]

So instead I’m going to talk about when my vagina became a war zone.    Enjoy.

My daughter was about twenty minutes old.   The euphoria of childbirth was starting to wear off – along with my epidural – and the reality of having had a small human stroll out of my nether regions was starting to set in.   I remember the exact moment that I became aware that there were two people still elbow deep in my uterus.   I was trying to listen to the nurses taking Dee’s measurements across the room when I heard my OB say “And this is what I call the ‘HUSBAND STITCH”.   I snapped to attention.   It wasn’t lost on the Doc.   I’m pretty sure she winked at me.   (See, the thing about teaching hospitals is, the Attending physicians are always doing that pesky teaching thing which means they’re narrating their every move.   Trust me when I tell you that listening to someone describe in graphic detail the repairs they’re making to the extensive damage to your vagina that you DID NOT SEE COMING, AND REALLY WISH SOMEONE HAD WARNED YOU ABOUT is pretty much the last thing on earth you would ever want to do.)   Anyway – there I was, 20 minutes post-delivery, still spread eagle in the stirrups with Doctor FrankenGyn, the resident on duty, and a couple of L&D nurses holding a quilting circle at my cervix, and I couldn’t help but think to myself how nonchalant these ladies were being about the whole thing.   I mean I knew there would be stitches, but  HELLO?   THAT’S MY VAGINA YOU’VE BEEN DEMONSTRATING THE CROSS STITCH ON FOR THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES.

Note to Doctor:   I really don’t appreciate flippancy when it comes to the state of my lady flower.   When I ask you if it’s really bad?   I could do without the chuckle and the jokes about vaginal rejuvenation, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

People are always giving you the same mundane advice when it comes to childbirth.  “Breath deeply.”   “Give the nurses chocolate.”   But no one ever warns you about the important stuff.   Like that while childbirth is totally natural and beautiful and all of those things?   That doesn’t mean your va-jay-jay is getting out unscathed.    And that adorable bouncing baby you just birthed?   Isn’t the only one who’s coming home in diapers.

[Please note: Obviously the above photo has nothing to do with the subject matter in this post. It's just Delilah saying "Hi."]

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