The truth about child birth: "I need a mechanic trained as a gynaecologist to fix me."

Have a baby naturally, they said. It’s life changing, they said.

Let me tell you something: my first child broke my vagina and you don’t want to know what else, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Yup, it’s broken and I need a mechanic trained as a gynaecologist to fix it. Heads up to anyone reading this who is male or hasn’t had children yet, you may want to continue living in blissful ignorance and stop reading now.

Before I had children I didn’t care, nor did I pay attention when people spoke about pregnancy or childbirth. Then, when I got pregnant all the professionals (anyone who has ever participated in the event of a labour) came out of the wood work. People seem to think, and it’s not only women, that when you are pregnant you WANT to hear stories about sh—ing during labour and mucous plugs etc.

Have a baby naturally, they said. It’s life changing, they said. Image supplied.

Seriously, NO, let me have a surprise. I remember being pregnant and chatting to a friend who was due around the same time as me, at a wedding. A man, whose wife I had met five minutes earlier, came up and started rambling on about pooing during labour. MATE, seriously? How about you tell me I’m glowing first? I walked off, not because I was offended, but I was just over it and in my last trimester.

Something else they don’t tell you about the glamorous life post vaginal birth -- the pelvic floor. Now you may have heard mummies saying jovially, “I can’t jump on a trampoline, I may pee myself.”  You may think to yourself, "WTF, that’s just gross and there is no way that will happen to me!"

Well, that was me.

Little did I know there were worse things to be afraid of. Now, I am no professional in any medical field whatsoever, so please just bear with me as I describe as best I can my experience with the pelvic floor.

"What they don’t tell you is there are three pelvic floors." Image supplied.

Most people (like myself) think that the pelvic floor is just your ‘love hole’ (honestly that’s the nicest word I could think to call it). When you see your midwife or OB, they will run you through the exercises you should be doing to strengthen your pelvic floor. It basically feels like when you need to pee and you have to hold it while you run through the club and wait in line at the ladies.

Who am I kidding? I haven’t been to a club in years but I remember that’s what it feels like, okay? So there I was, in the consulting room with the midwife, asking her if I was doing them wrong because they aroused me, then watching her and my husband’s faces turn bright red.

What they don’t tell you is there are three pelvic floors. Your ‘pee hole’, your ‘love hole’ and your ‘exit only hole’ (let’s call it EOH). Thankfully (kinda) my first two were fine after the birth but I had no idea of the surprise that was to come. So I was sitting in my hospital bed the morning after I gave birth to my son and we had visitors. My brother in law and his girlfriend were sitting on the seat next to my bed, husband’s friend was at the foot of the bed and a few other people randomly scattered around my quarter of the shared room I was in.

"I’m talking, this fart went for at least 5 seconds." Image supplied.

Everyone was happily chatting away and I was feeling thirsty so I poured myself a glass of water and slowly raised the glass to my mouth to have a sip… as the glass was nearing my lips, my EOH took it upon itself to start farting. And I’m not talking a little one.

I’m talking, this fart went for at least five seconds. I want you to count those five seconds out now and realise how long that is. I had no idea what was happening but was 100 per cent sure it was coming out of me. I was mortified.

"I was mortified." Image supplied.

I sat there stunned and didn’t blink an eye. I figured if I didn’t react they may all think it was the bed or something. What did I just do? How did I have no control over it? My heart was in my throat! All I could do was hold the sheets down as tight as I could and try not to move for fear of dutch oven-ing my guests. I let a few minutes pass and when I was in the clear and no-one had reacted, I got up and told everyone I was hot so I was going out into the hall for a minute on my own.

Lordy meeeee. Walking down that corridor like someone had shoved a trumpet up my butt let me tell you -- I think I almost cried. Made my way to the midwife and asked her why my EOH was broken and what could I do to fix it. This poor girl was trying, in her best serious face to tell me it was my pelvic floor and it happens when you push a small melon out of you, seeing as you push as though you’re are taking the biggest crap of your life.

"Thankfully it can be fixed and it took me many butt clenches to return to my normal self." Image supplied.

Thankfully it can be fixed and it took me many butt clenches to return to my normal self. There are still a few mishaps every now and then, like the time I did one in class and blamed the closest student. I think my words were “he who smelt it, dealt it”. I know right so mature, but if anyone (by anyone I mainly mean my husband) tries to complain about a little flatulence here and there I just threaten to tell them my birth story with all the gory details.

Thanks for reading. I hope you found it very educational. Seriously though, children are such a blessing and what we go through is nothing when you have the cutest little face making you smile every day.

This post originally appeared on The Subtle Mummy and has been republished here with full permission.