“The heart is capable of sacrifice. So is the vagina. The heart is able to forgive and repair. It can change its shape to let us in. It can expand to let us out. So can the vagina. It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world. So can the vagina. I was there in the room. I remember.” ~ Eve Ensler, The Vagina Monologues
Why do people say, “Grow some balls”? Balls are weak and sensitive! If you really wanna get tough, grow a vagina! Those things take a pounding! ~ Comedian Sheng Wang, often misattributed to Betty White (I wish Betty White really said this!)
Last weekend I went away on an annual Mom’s Escape with a group of my most fabulously outspoken BBFs (Best Bitches Forever). Almost immediately, the conversation went south… as it always does.
The topic du weekend: vaginal rejuvenation. What it is, who would want it, how we’d imagine it would turn out, who’s the best doc to do it (in real life, not in our Channing Tatum-laced fantasies — look, he started it with Magic Mike!!).
What chicks talk about when left to their own devices in a single-sex scenario always fascinates me. Having gone to an all-girls sleepaway camp, I can testify that from a young age, that which is most feminine about our bodies is often the most bonding of conversation points. Maybe it’s the secrecy that shrouds sexuality, or perhaps it’s just because hopping over to vag talk is actually a very intimate leap, but it’s a fact that those you’re closest with are the ones who teach you how to use a tampon, ride out your PMS with good humor or a shoulder to cry on, go to the drugstore with you to buy embarrassing supplies, point you toward the best Brazilian, support you through child-bearing, and land with you on the other side, as hormones dwindle and gray becomes the new black down there.
Of course not all we talked about was our literal private parts; we also shared plenty of emotional secret (and sacred) bits, too. These are the BBFs I turn to for brutal honestly, as they are willing to dish it and equally willing to receive it from each other. I listened to conversations turn from the innocuous (what TV shows we’re watching – more Good Wife than Game of Thrones with this bunch), to deeply intimate thoughts about our careers, personal goals, home life, spouses, and of course, our kids.
Oh, the children! The whole point of a mom’s escape is to get away from them, and inevitably, much of the conversation is all about them. But of course at this age, in this phase, with these ladies that I know through my offspring, this kind of talk is inevitable.
I know the importance of having good girl friends to vent to; having been an obnoxious teenager myself, I clearly remember after the worst of my outbursts, my mom shutting her bedroom door so she could call a friend. Otherwise known as the lifeline.
These are some rough years — for the kiddies and for us. Nowadays it feels like the weight of the world is heaped on even from elementary school, as every decision, every grade, every sports team has a huge impact on where our kids will go in their adult lives, beginning with college. This is a ton of pressure, and you know what? Hashing it out with friends — especially the ones who are fixated on the issues and are excellent at plotting the best course — is a great way to relieve some of that pressure. (Second only to a good vibrator, which was also of course discussed with the ladies.)
Still, by the time we reached Saturday night dinner, we were all somewhat worn out from all that hashing (well, that and the sand, surf, and cocktail hour). Being ladies, we chose to dine at a relatively fancy joint, and so when we arrived at our beautiful patio table and saw a young couple with a three-month old baby, you know what we did…
Oohed, aahed, and then the boldest among us snuggled right into that sweet smelling child. While others fear a crying infant in a fancy restaurant scenario, we embraced that walk down memory lane.
If there were a vagina-throb-o-meter in the house, we would’ve taken the thing to 11. (NOT like that — just in terms of the estrogen-induced response we veteran moms feel when in the presence of a helpless little blob that doesn’t polish off the breadbasket or order the most expensive thing on the menu.)
My, how things have changed — back in the day, that would NOT be the thing to start the engines roaring in a low lit, sexy room on a Saturday night.
But as one of my BFF’s pointed out, with 14 children among us, we know the drill. That newly minted exhaustion that rimmed the eyelids of the new mom was just the tip of the iceberg.
“You guys are so cute!” she exclaimed. That patronizing way of categorizing older women as “cute” didn’t phase us as we nodded in unison, knowing that in a blink, her day would come.
To that new mom I send a fervent wish: that when her little baby is a walking, talking, driving (!!!– not yet, don’t rush me!!) person, I hope that she’s surrounded by a group of vag-toting, X-chromosomal beings that will lead her gently (OK, roughly, bawdily, loudly, hilariously, lovingly) into whatever’s coming next.
So if you see me and my girls having a few, yucking it up, and amusing ourselves (if not others), come on over and join us. The vagina dialogues always hit the spot in a very satisfying way!