For the love of God woman, use a donut cushion!
Your vagina assumes a new personality after having a baby. It sheds its past insecurities and fears; it’s capable of learning. If your vagina can push out a baby, it can do anything.
The new personality of your vagina has some sage postpartum words for you, helping to integrate your new badass self with your new badass vagina. I’ll go ahead and assume the voice of your vagina, so let’s pretend she has a British accent.
1. I damn well deserve to be called by my proper name now.
Once your vagina has gone through the big girl task of birthing a baby, it deserves to be called by its proper name. No more “down there,” “va-jay-jay,” “pink lady,” or “my petunia.” It’s vagina, and Queen Vagina to the men.
Read more on Your Tango!
I get more done between November and December than I do in the other 10 months of the year. There’s something about the prospect of looking over the productivity of the past year, come December 31st, to light a fire under my yoga-pants-wearing, reality-TV-watching arse.
And the whole “time flies” cliché doesn’t sting as much when I can look back on a year (two months) full of accomplishments, new memories, and a heftier bank account (wait, that rarely happens for me — let’s change that to “an expanded heart.”)
Most people are so “on it” they’re jumping on it come January, what with all the New Year’s Resolution hoopla. But I’m so wiped out by the time the New Year rolls around that I pretty much write January off to detoxing from butter, chocolate, and all forms of potatoes. I need to fill my achievement coffer before January 1st.
Read more on Huff Post!
Nothing drains the wonder of Christmas like mall parking lots, a melting bank account, saying “yes” to too many obligations and “no” to our kids every 6.5 seconds.
Christmas as an adult often lacks the visceral joy abundant in childhood. Many of us lose that lightness in the chest, watering in the mouth, rosy-ing of the cheeks, pepping of the step, and enjoyable anticipation in the gut as the years tick away on our biological clock. Here’s hoping “they” figure out how to bottle that cocktail of feelings and infuse it into the cider.
I’m talking to you Santa.
In the meantime, let’s figure out how to steer our holiday actions down a lane paved with opportunities to evoke the childlike-holiday-wonder that fizzled out around the time our teenage hormones bubbled up.
These activities are not just for your kids — step into the experience and reclaim your childlike wonder.
Read more on Huff Post!
I used to be shackled by distorted notions of the meaning of my vagina.
I thought it required I be docile, unconditionally pleasant, agreeable, subservient, visually appealing and shiny—but not too shiny—I wouldn’t want too much attention.
I didn’t know how to do any of that. I thought I was failing at femininity. But really, I was failing to grasp what true femininity was.
These were private fears. A secret shame in my feminine nature. My mother was, and is, a feminist who kept her last name when she married my father, worked passionately for Planned Parenthood and refused to be shoved into a box of archaic social expectations.
Read more on elephant journal!
I crave my tears.
I want to taste their cathartic salty elixir in my mouth.
I want to swallow my sorrow.
The smiling is making me ache with repression.
I need to release the fear. The doubts. The screaming insecurities.
I need to feel them sliding out of my soul.
Please don’t enclose me in your soothing embrace.
I don’t want to be soothed.
Read more on elephant journal
Below is the linkety link to my version of my son’s birth story on the lovely podcast The Birth Hour. (If the other people present at my birth were asked to give their versions they would likely be very different!) The human memory is a fascinatingly unreliable recording device 🙂 But, I’m glad to have my version recorded for posterity.
Here’s hoping it gives all the mamas faith in their ability to have a gentle (and even enjoyable!) birth.