baggy fannys, dirty shirt, pulling hair and eating dirt.

The snow was 6 inches deep outside, it was dark but not dark and the coal was spitting in the fire. We were well fed and warm and feeling completely spoilt and replete. So what more could a family need? A BBC light drama of course. One with lots of pregnant women grunting and the arrival of the wonderful entonox. Settled down to our smug snugness we watch with awww’s and Sunday smiles while a midwife examines a young women whose swollen belly had gone unseen by the whole crew of a cargo ship who have all been busy using this woman’s body as a comfort blanket/wank sock.
This midwife seemed to be up to her actual elbow with this young girl, something to do with the cord coming first (I was busy squirming and hiding behind a cushion) when she said “hmmm… lots of room in there!”
The horror of having your cavernous vagina pointed out during a medical examine! The rudeness of the midwife! Teenagers howling on sofas! Partner sniggering into sleeves!
This was not light entertainment, they never mentioned Nora’s sizeable fanny in Last of the Summer Wine.

The shock did not leave me and I carried it on for far too long for my families comfort. My partner admitted that as a youngster it was common to ask a friend about his new girlfriend and “if he had put his posters up inside her yet”. Having sex meant that your vagina would increase in size. Like throwing a toothbrush down the grand canyon. Hilarious. We agreed that young men get it too, teenage laughter at your penis size must be just as painful and debilitating.
After every birth my bits have been different. The day after delivering my first child I checked myself out in the mirror expecting a slight graze and I very nearly fainted. What the hell was that looking back at me, giving me a lop sided wink? It wasn’t mine. But then nature knitted me back together and I was restored to something similar to what I first started with. But with a few new nooks and crannies. Fanny crannies.
After the second birth I could not have picked my vulva out in a line up.
I have heard stories about third deliveries. One friend reckons she turned inside out like a pop-up pet, lots more of my friends can not even look at a trampoline.

I am ok with my body and the changes it goes through. I spent so much time as a younger woman working out ways to like my body that, like muscle memory, I just do it. I just like my body. But like the muscle memory of my vag, maybe it will take a bit of a knocking. I’ve spent so long looking at my outsides, I FORGOT ABOUT MY INSIDES!

Have a look at my liver, its quite fatty. Here’s my spleen, its Vosene clean. Here are my bits, they’re the pits.

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