Oy Vajayjay

I remember the hospital tour like it was yesterday. Six other pregnant women and I shuffled through the maternity ward with our petrified husbands, trying not to think about the fact that within three short months we’d each be lying on a bed just like this one with our ungroomed vajayjays hanging out for all to see.

At least that’s what I thought we were all thinking until this one whack job spoke up. First she asked how many relatives she’d allowed to have in the room with her during the birth. Even if I were an Orthodox Jew giving birth through a little hole in a blanket, there ain’t no way any relatives would be in the room. Hell, I don’t think I’d let my cat in there, and he has the word pussy in his name.

Second this woman asked whether the hospital would provide a mirror or would she need to bring her own to see the birth? You know, I’m usually the person who takes the batteries out of the remote control to use in my vibrator (annoying the crap out of my husband in more ways than one), but if I saw myself give birth in a mirror, I’d probably remove the batteries from my vibrator and put them back into the remote because I would never have sex with myself again. Never. Ever.

I’ve always wondered how TLC finds women to give birth on television. Now I know. They just go to maternity ward tours and look for the women who ask these kinds of questions. Something tells me these are also the women who walk around locker rooms with their giant, never-shaven bushes hanging out for all to see, a visual that always sends me running to Walgreens afterwards to buy bleach for my eyeballs. But I digress.

As we were touring the rest of the ward, the guide mentioned that there’s also one special room that has a Jacuzzi for anyone who might want it for labor. Ordinarily this is where I would insert a ‘grossed out’ emoticon, but since I’m 39 ¾ the only emoticons I know are smiley face and frowny face. I have three things to say about this “special” room:

  1. Aren’t Jacuzzis where people go to get pregnant? Not where they go afterwards.
  2. Jacuzzi? Hello, it’s 2012 not 1985. We call them hot tubs now.
  3. Ewww. There aren’t enough bottles of 409 in the world to clean that tub well enough to convince me to get in it. I’d rather lick the train table in my kid’s doctor’s office waiting room.

As far as I’m concerned, this room isn’t first come first serve. It’s last come last serve. If it were the only one available when I got to the hospital, I’d squeeze my legs together and hold that baby in until another room opened up. And let me just add that if you happen to be one of the women who used this tub, I really hope I haven’t offended you. I also hope the hospital had a cure for the Ebola you contracted.

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