“Honey, I think there’s an issue with my perineum!” I call out to my partner.
“Your what?”
“My perineum. How have you reached 39 without… oh, never mind. It’s that area between the vagina and the butt, and there’s definitely something off. I can feel this bump that stings intensely, but I can’t see it.”
“Could it be a hemorrhoid?” he suggests. “Have you been straining lately?”
“Well, that’s possible. This baby has certainly caused some blockages down there. Would you recognize a hemorrhoid if you saw one?”
“I might, but I’m not sure I want to identify one on you.”
I can understand his hesitation to get too close to my sore perineum, yet this is the same man who rushes to hold my hair back during bouts of morning sickness, which I find far more unappealing. I try to shout “get away!” but he can’t hear me over the retching noise, so he bravely sticks it out. Sweet yet awful.
Anyway, after declining my invitation to take on the role of amateur proctologist, he hands me a tube of Preparation H and leaves me to my own devices. The mysterious bump starts to feel better almost immediately, so I’m inclined to believe his diagnosis is spot on, which saves me from the awkwardness of mentioning it at my next OB appointment.
Five years ago, when I first met my partner in a dimly lit bar, I never envisioned myself asking him to check my pregnancy-related hemorrhoids. This is the reality of pregnancy; all mystery has vanished. It left the building when I began using the bathroom with the door wide open. I know, I know—if I didn’t, we’d never complete a conversation. That’s how frequent my bathroom trips have become during this pregnancy.
Also, I tend to leak a bit when I sneeze. Given my allergies to dust and my utter disdain for cleaning, let’s just say I’m sneezing and leaking all over the house. I’m the poorly trained puppy my partner never wanted.
And don’t get me started on flatulence. I could power a small boat with my gas right now. I could burp the alphabet backwards. If you were to poke a pin in my belly (please don’t), I’d likely zip across the room like a cartoon balloon.
The reality of life is often quite gross.
Of course, none of this compares to the sheer panic of “Stay up near my head or you’ll be traumatized for life!” during delivery. The thought of pooping on the delivery table, crowning, and episiotomies—those are sights you can’t unsee.
There should be an emotional epidural for partners to help promote post-pregnancy amnesia. I suspect such a thing might already exist and that doctors are secretly administering it; otherwise, no one would ever want to have sex again after their first child, and families would only have one kid. Thank goodness for science!
For more insights, check out this resource for pregnancy and home insemination. If you’re considering self insemination, you might find the at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit and the 18-piece at-home insemination kit to be valuable.
In summary, pregnancy brings with it a host of uncomfortable and often embarrassing realities. From unexpected bodily functions to the daunting experience of childbirth, the journey can be both beautiful and grotesque.
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