Ladies, if some self-important mother ever tries to discredit you when you are complaining of cramps because “you haven’t given birth. Try contractions HAHAHAHAAAAA YOU KNOW NOTHING,” then I give you permission—nay—I DEMAND you punch her in the nads.
Listen here, girls. I have had two kids. Not just your normal, every day kids, either. 10 pounders*. Two of them (OH MY GOD. DID YOU DO STEROIDS? No, my friends, it’s just the miracle of Scotch-Canadian genes).
Even better? No epidural (OMG, WHHHHYYYYY? Because of an accident that left my spine too curvy to risk it). I felt every agonizing moment of every contraction from start to finish—70 hours with the first and 20 with the second. And both times required pitocin.
What’s pitocin, you ask? If you aren’t progressing to the doctor’s liking, they give you this shit to make your contractions HURT MORE. In fact, every half hour or so, a nurse (you will create your own nickname for her—demonbitchfuckdick, I called her) will come in and try to goad you into a conversation. If you can hold this conversation—if you can SMILE—she laughs a merry little laugh that makes you want to choke her with a pile of discarded medical waste from a liposuction shoved down her happy little throat and says, “Uh-oh, we can still smile! Must not be strong enough contractions! Let’s turn up the pitocin!” And you can’t do anything because you’re strapped in with all these wires and tubes and shit and like, ‘WHO IS THIS ‘WE,’ MOTHERFUCKER? I DON’T SEE YOU HERE IN THIS BED IN PAIN. AND I’M PRETTY SURE YOU’VE EATEN IN THE LAST 12 HOURS, TOO” and your goddamned bladder is full and they don’t want you to pee BUT THEY KEEP PUTTING FLUIDS IN YOU ANYWAY.
Contractions? Those motherfuckers hurt.
Cramps? Those motherfuckers hurt, too.
And those lucky girls who can get epidurals get the good stuff to relieve pain! Cramps? TAKE MOTRIN. No, bitch, get me some heroin and Ambien. And while you’re at it, get me some chocolate.
Pushing the kid out? Hot damn, that’s the easy part. It relieves the pain of contractions and it’s one step closer to shutting that god damned perky ass smug bitch nurse up and my GOD, you are just HOPING you shit on the table so she’ll have to clean it up like, “WIPE THAT SMILE OFF *YOUR* FACE AND WIPE THAT SHIT UP.”
Anyway. Point is, cramps hurt and YOU DON’T EVEN GET A REWARD AT THE END except, like, 4 more days of BLEEDING and no sex and no cute underwear.
So, don’t ever let some smug mother tell you your pain isn’t shit just because you haven’t had a baby and experienced REAL PAIN, because cramps ARE real pain. I will gladly go to the mat for any of my sisters out there who have painful cramps.
*I’d like to address this subject right damned here. Two ten pound kids. One almost two feet long. You bet your sweet asses I am just as small down there as I was before having kids, though.
Having kids doesn’t wreck your vagina. So stop worrying about that. Worry about all the other things it wrecks—like your sleep, your sanity, your personal time**….
**I keed. Slightly.