I am immersed in motherhood so fully that I don’t know who I am outside of yoga pants and debating whether or not my Keurig needs to be replaced by an environmentally friendly French Press. Apparently I’m a budding hipster, which is a lifestyle that emerged sometime while I was in the diaper aisle at Target.
All of my news comes from Facebook and my social interactions come in key strokes, forgive me.
I had a date night with my husband three, maybe four days ago (who’s counting and who cares?) and I managed to make my awkward hermit status completely well-known in a buzzing restaurant. I stood out as the weird lady who smiles a lot and holds eye contact way too long from the moment I walked in.
The hostess gave us a sweet, standard greeting and I basically thought we were best friends. (I don’t get out much). I managed to remember most of my manners but at one point during a very personal conversation with my husband I caught myself spelling out the word C-O-N-D-O-M-S. We were in a discussion about our best birth control options since our new baby’s birth. The restaurant was obviously the most appropriate place to discuss this. So there I was sitting six inches from another table of grown up diners spelling out the word condoms as if I were sitting in a room full of four year olds.
Pssst, they can spell. And they can hear you.
A few weeks earlier I had suffered the indignity of a postpartum checkup. After being weighed (the worst) and put on a paper wrapped slab in my birthday suit, the Midwife who delivered my baby came in and we had a nice chat. She brought in a new Midwife in Training to sit in on our visit and she told me that I would never hold my pee again, so I made a mental note to look up Transvaginal Mesh. (I jest). Actually she did something far worse. She gave me the excruciatingly embarrassing talk about kegels.
Being that I wasn’t born yesterday I know what those are, but I sat and dumbly smiled and nodded along with her as if I was hearing this information for the first time, because, how do you interrupt that conversation anyway?
The Midwife is all “great, so now you know how, let’s practice!”
I’m like, “what? Where are my pants, is this for real?”
But again, being all compromised and naked I kind of just give in. She’s just done a pretty thorough exam anyway so now we’re going to have to get married and she may as well just get this over with.
She seriously, actually, totally, completely took a gloved finger or two and stuck them in that holy place and told me to squeeze. “You know, like if you’re stopping the flow when you pee!”
Am I dead? Is this happening? I am such a pushover.
And so, I squeeze.
And she says, “Are you doing it yet? Can you do it?”
Is she for real? I AM doing it! She can’t tell?
And I say, “Oh, I’m doing it, apparently those muscles are really weak or something.”
And she says “Well now you know how so if you practice it will make a BIG difference.”
And just like that, after three children and one remaining shred of dignity, it vaporized.
I’m so glad I did that with an audience. I hope the Midwife in Training learned a lot that day. I know I did. And there’s no way I will ever be able to practice a Kegel without wandering down that long lane of uncomfortable memories.
And that takes me back to the public conversation I had on a rare date with my husband about our birth control options in our postpartum lives. I’m quite keen to stay off of pills, patches, rings, IUD’s and other forms of tampering with my shipwrecked body. I chose to bring this up in public. Why? Because when you have children you become accustomed to having all of your discussions out in the open. You can’t escape your audience, ever. They follow you to the bathroom and they sneak into your bed at night. The most private place to discuss anything these days is right out in the open.
So enjoy the steak neighbors. The cauliflower puree is divine. Also, karate is on Tuesday, my mom wants to take the kids for a night, the big kid has diarrhea, the middle one isn’t ready to potty train yet, and my boobs are basically ready to blow milk all over your table. Do you like yoga pants? Wanna hang out?