After the birth of my first child, I felt complete in a way I had never experienced before. However, my body—specifically my vagina—was a different story.
At my six-week postpartum check-up, my doctor started the examination with, “Well, that’s unfortunate.” Those are not the words you want to hear when you have a multitude of stitches in a very sensitive area and haven’t dared to look for yourself yet. It was almost as alarming as when she asked, “Where’s the other needle?” after stitching me up. The thirty seconds it took to find that needle were as nerve-wracking as the labor itself.
(For the record, she’s a fantastic doctor. I was fortunate enough to have a shift change during my labor, and my baby was in the birth canal for what felt like forever while my first doctor handed over the reins. The new doctor introduced herself and delivered my baby just minutes later. Now that’s impressive!)
So, what was the problem?
“The stitches in your labia didn’t hold.”
Oh no. I had been eager to strengthen my pelvic floor muscles with some early squats post-baby, but maybe I had overdone it.
“It’s not that bad,” she said, handing me a mirror. Without going into too much detail, the left side of my labia, which should have been smooth and connected, was now split in two, with the top half detached. I had my very own “labia flap.”
“I have a flap,” I said, stunned.
“Well, we can always fix it when you have your next one!” she replied casually. Seriously? I’d have to endure this whole painful process again just to fix my vagina?
After the appointment, I sat in my car, head on the steering wheel, and cried for a good minute—my six-week-old son was in the back, wailing his little heart out.
I grieved the loss of my pre-baby body, which felt like a symbol of my journey into motherhood—the physical changes mirrored the monumental shifts in my life.
When I tried to vent to my mom friends, they didn’t quite understand. In our discussions about breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and the craziness of childbirth stories, my labia flap didn’t even register. One friend had a fourth-degree tear, which she described as her “vagina and butthole becoming one.” Another endured three days of labor before delivering a ten-pound baby. Since my perineum was intact, they weren’t particularly sympathetic to my situation.
On the bright side, my husband has never brought it up to me, which means I’m probably safe from public judgment over my appearance.
I wish I could say I’ve moved past it or that I view it like some women do their stretch marks: as the badges of a fierce mother. But instead, I feel like I’m sporting a bizarre hairless cat, which, while cute, definitely looks strange. Just when I think I’ve accepted my new postpartum body, I get a random twinge of discomfort from my flap, reminding me that I’m no longer the same confident woman I was before motherhood.
I know some of you might say, “But you’re still beautiful! Motherhood is beautiful!” Others may tell me to embrace the changes or simply deal with it. I understand that things like stretch marks and some looseness are part of giving birth, but a labia flap? Not so much.
Sometimes, accepting your postpartum body is just not an option.
So, six months after my first baby, I decided to get pregnant again. When asked about my reasons for wanting another child so soon, I tell people the truth: I wanted to fix my “deformed labia” as soon as possible. It’s an unusual reason, but it definitely leaves them speechless.
While I might be sleep-deprived for years and buried under piles of diapers, at least I’ll have a well-formed vagina again. And this time, those stitches had better hold.
For more insights into pregnancy, check out this excellent resource, WomensHealth.gov. If you’re considering at-home insemination, you might find our guide on artificial insemination kits helpful. And for those interested in fertility, take a look at the intracervical insemination syringe kit we recommend.
Summary:
In this candid piece, Jenna Matthews shares her experience of navigating the physical changes that come with motherhood, particularly focusing on the unexpected complications of her labia after childbirth. Despite the challenges and the emotional toll, she finds humor in her situation and embraces the journey of motherhood. Ultimately, she chooses to get pregnant again in hopes of repairing her body, all while navigating the complexities of parenting young children.
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