Becoming a mother for the first time filled my heart with an overwhelming sense of wholeness. However, my body told a different story.
At my six-week postpartum check-up, my doctor started with the words, “That’s unfortunate.” Those are not the words you want to hear when dealing with an area of your body that is already sensitive and healing, especially when you’re too scared to look down there and assess the damage. The moment when I heard my doctor ask, “Where’s the other needle?” after stitching me up was equally terrifying. The search for that missing needle felt as traumatic as giving birth itself.
To clarify, my doctor is fantastic. I had a shift change during labor, which was quite the surprise. My first doctor handed off to her just as my baby was about to arrive, and she promptly delivered my child—now that’s what I call great service!
So, what’s the situation? “The stitches in your labia didn’t hold,” she explained. Panic set in as I recalled my eagerness to do pelvic floor exercises too soon after childbirth. I just wanted to avoid any embarrassing accidents when I laughed or coughed. Maybe I had overdone it?
She casually handed me a mirror to see for myself. I won’t go into graphic detail, but let’s just say my labia was not what it used to be. It was as if the left side had split, creating what I jokingly referred to as my own little “labia finger.”
“I have a flap,” I stated, half in disbelief. The doctor suggested, “We can fix it during your next pregnancy.” Seriously? I would have to endure this entire ordeal all over again just to repair my vagina?
After the appointment, I sat in my car, resting my head on the steering wheel, and cried for a minute while my six-week-old son wailed in the backseat. I mourned the loss of my pre-baby body, a symbol of the massive transition into motherhood that I had experienced.
When I vented to fellow moms, my concerns fell on deaf ears. In conversations about birth stories, my labia flap didn’t even register. One friend had a severe tear, and another endured three days of labor before delivering a hefty baby. Since I had avoided serious tearing, my friends didn’t share my feelings of distress.
On the bright side, my husband has never mentioned my situation, which is a relief. It’s unlikely I’ll ever be scrutinized in public about my anatomy, given the nature of my life. However, I can’t say that I’ve completely accepted this change. Unlike women who view their stretch marks as badges of honor, I see my labia flap as an unsightly reminder of my transformation into motherhood.
Just as I begin to feel comfortable in my new postpartum body, a random tug will remind me that I’m not the same woman I was before becoming a mother. I know I should embrace my new self, but some aspects, like a labia flap, seem unfair.
So, I made the decision to get pregnant again six months after my first child. When asked about spacing between children, I admit that one of my reasons was to rectify the situation with my labia. This usually ends the conversation quickly.
While I might be facing sleepless nights and endless diaper changes, I find a small comfort in knowing that I’ll eventually have a more aesthetically pleasing vagina. And this time, those stitches had better hold.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood can lead to unexpected changes in our bodies, and while it’s essential to embrace these transformations, some challenges, like a labia flap, can be difficult to accept. My decision to get pregnant again stemmed from a desire for healing and restoration, as I navigate the complexities of motherhood.