tales from a stay-at-home mom of four boys

The death of my modesty

I’m not a very modest person, but I swear I lost any modesty I had during the birth of my first son and the few days following. During a vaginal (yes I said it) birth, a woman is at her most vulnerable.  She’s sweating, she’s grunting, she’s crying,  she’s in pain, oh and her legs are spread  in the air.

My first labor lasted over 15 hours (2 and a half of pushing).  For the beginning of it, I walked around the room in that lovely, open-back hospital gown that they provide patients.  By the end though, I too ended up on my back, legs in the air, (isn’t this how I got into this situation to begin with?) for all the world to see my business.  Ok, not all the world, but several different nurses rotated through due to shift changes and each and everyone of them felt the need to “check” my progress, which meant sticking their hands all in there.  Then came the doctor, who gets head first in there.  Eventually it ended in a C-section because my son got stuck.  After the birth, my breasts became public property.  Not only were they constantly on displays with a child hanging off of them, but every nurse who walked into my room felt the need to grab my boobs to see how my milk was coming in.  Also, because I ended up with a C-section, I was dependent on others for a few weeks after the birth.  This meant I needed help getting to and from the bathroom, as well as, on and off the toilet; heck,  I couldn’t even pull up my own pants.  I also needed help showering, and not just getting in and out, but washing myself all over, and then getting dressed afterwards.

By the time my son was a month old, I’d given up the small amount of modesty I had to begin with.  If there was even the slightest bit of modesty still hidden somewhere inside of me, I can promise you now, after the births of three sons, it is completely gone.  I no longer close the bathroom door, ever (unless trying to hide from the kids); clothing is optional in our house (especially with my 4 year old), even if the neighbors might  be able to see through the window or in our backyard; and there is nothing I won’t talk about (hence the blog).  I guess on the positive side, I really don’t get embarrassed anymore.  Any questions?



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One thought on “The death of my modesty

  1. Pingback: Janet’s not the only one with wardrobe malfunctions « survivingmyboyz

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