I was so convinced that my vagina would be demolished after childbirth that I spent close to $100 on a makeshift repair kit: plus- size adult diapers, perineum-shaped ice packs, and Tucks antiseptic wipes. Although labour was an insane thirty-six hours, with an epidural that ONLY froze my legs (thank you, modern science), my vagina somehow came out of it relatively unscathed.
Three-days postpartum, I went for a walk around the block. One- week postpartum, I took a longer stroll through the park. Two-weeks postpartum, I laced up my running shoes for a five-kilometre walk with the stroller. Physically, I felt great?rejuvenated and ambitious.
By week three, I felt ready to party again. My midwife said I should wait to have sex until week six to avoid infection, but on week?four, baby and I took an afternoon walk to our local drugstore? and found ourselves standing in the condom aisle. Feeling like a sheepish teenager perusing the possibilities of protection, I grabbed a dozen ?thin silk? lubricated condoms. I purchased a chocolate bar and some cleaning products too, to make my checkout a little less awkward for everyone involved. On the walk home, I listened to some old Usher tracks and sent my husband a text:
?Let?s have sex tonight.?
The evening unfolded like any other, with shitty diapers, breast pumping, and a lacklustre dinner eaten while taking turns bouncing a newborn in our laps. Around 8:00 p.m., I slipped away to prepare my bod for postnatal coitus. I shaved my armpi...