Navigating the Waters of TMI

One thing I've noticed about pregnancy, and having a baby, is how quickly your personal boundaries and definitions of modesty change.  It started to happen pretty much immediately, at least in my head.

First, there's the "trying to have a baby" stage.  It was pretty much impossible for me to talk to anyone about this.  At its most basic, it's having lots of sex, so there's an image for you.  When you get scientific about it at all, subject matter gets a lot more personal.  Sure, you might mean to start off using delicate terms, abstract concepts like ovulation, and euphemisms, but then you run into two words: cervical mucus.

As such, I didn't actually talk to anyone about this when we were in the trying phase, except the Yeti.  And he barred me from using the word "mucus" at all.  We've been together for over a decade and there's not really any mystery anymore, but still, when you want someone to have sex with you, much less on demand, you agree to keep mucus out of daily conversation.

Then there's actually pregnancy, and that's when I started to notice that things that I found fascinating aren't always great topics for polite conversation.  Sure, I knew to avoid issues like constipation, but for example, I never consciously realized that growing a baby meant your other organs rearrange and squish out of the way.  I mean, sure, I guess I knew it, but I wasn't expecting that one day my stomach was going to growl in a different area of my torso.  How cool!

But then I'd mention to my friends that my organs were rearranging and no one seemed to find it as neat as I did.

Then there was labor.  While living in pregnancy land, I got so used to reading about cervixes and dilation and the medical aspect of it that I stopped thinking about the fact that a vaginal birth is, well, vaginal.  Until one night we were out with friends, not talking about pregnancy, and a girl I barely knew randomly asked if I was nervous since something huge was going to come out of my vagina.

Well.  If I was, it was too late for that now.  Secondly, I suddenly became aware that now everyone was thinking about my vagina.  It was awkward.

After I had the kid, however, I could talk about labor all day.  I know no one wants to hear about it, but if they ask, I will give All the Information.  Hey, they asked, right?

Similarly, there's the nursing issue.  Personally, my modesty ship has sailed.  They were basically out constantly in the first few days of my son's life, with random nurses manhandling them and even more getting an eyeful.  And right now they really are pretty utilitarian.  I have to consciously check myself over before I answer the door, because I wouldn't be surprised if I accidentally left something hanging out.

Most of my friends are guys, and when I was pregnant I wondered how I would feel about nursing around them.  Well, I do feel awkward, but more for their sake than theirs - I know they're not used to it and I'm not sure if I'm weirding them out (an unfortunate side effect of being the first one to have kids in the social group).  Thumper is at a stage where he unlatches constantly so "subtle" isn't really an applicable term right now, plus he's distracted easily, so I just feed him in the bedroom to get it over with faster.  I'm mentally prepared to nurse in public, but so far I've only had to once, when he was three months old - but any anxiety is just over the logistics or other people being weird about it.  I don't personally care if someone catches a glimpse of me past my child doing gymnastics trying to see a passing dog.

Occasionally, though, I feel my own limits.  After the labor, the hospital gives you a little squeezy water bottle.  They call it a peri bottle, short for perineum, and yes, it's for your undercarriage.  It's valuable in everything from attempting to pee for the first time to making sure you're clean when the last thing you want to do is manhandle anything.  As such, I took mine home with me.

Most recently, I used it on my breasts - I was using these little gel pads, and you're supposed to wash any residue off before the kid nurses again.  The bottle was a fast, easy way to wash myself down without being too rough.  So I had it by the bathroom sink.

The Yeti was picking up the bathroom before some friends arrived and he yelled across the apartment, "Hey, what do you want me to do with your taint squeezer?"

So now there are two phrases that are banned in this house.

A 'what' squeezer?