Last week I began re-educating my vagina.
Let me explain: I live in France.
Shortly after my husband and I moved to Paris, I became pregnant, which was a relief, because I would get fat for a legitimate biological reason, not just because of all the pain au chocolat. When I gave birth to our daughter last November, my husband and I spent five government-sponsored days in the maternity ward at Clinique Leonardo Da Vinci, where we learned that French hospital meals come with a cheese course and that as part of my postpartum treatment I would be prescribed 10 to 20 sessions of la rééducation périnéale. This is a kind of physical therapy designed to retrain the muscles of the pelvic floor, including the vagina, and is one of the cornerstones of French postnatal care. Two months after our daughter was born, I summoned the courage to teach my vagina some new tricks.
Hmm, this is becoming the kind of story that uses the word vagina a lot. I know anatomical terminology can make people a little squeamish—as one of my guy friends pleaded when I was six months pregnant, “Could you please stop saying the word uterus?” But not to worry! I’ve Googled common euphemisms for vagina, and I’ll incorporate the gentler ones as we go along.
As you can imagine if you’ve ever watched a Gallic romantic comedy, the French are a little more blasé about the female body than Americans are. I realized this the first time I went to the gynecologist here. “Take off your pants and underwear,” he said in a bored voice, barely looking up from his computer. Wait, he’s not leaving the room? I thought. There’s no little paper gown? But then I realized just how stupid that little paper gown is, after all. Yes, just take off your pants and underwear. We’re all big kids here and we’ve seen it all before; no need to get into a lather about some exposed lady parts.
By the end of my pregnancy, my body had changed so much that I lost my American self-consciousness and really got into the swing of it. “Should I take off my pants and underwear now?” I’d ask, even though it might just be an appointment for fetal monitoring. Everything looked so different, I wasn’t even sure it was my body anymore—not the middle part at least. That belly and those boobs definitely didn’t belong to me, so who cares who saw them?
But then came the aftermath of the birth. The middle part of my body had bounced back, with even better, bigger boobs! (They tended to leak sometimes, but whatever.) But what was going on down there, in my, uh, private area? What had once been like an old friend, comfortable and familiar, was now a stranger, or at least that relative you only see once a year on holidays. Our easy banter had suddenly been replaced by strained and awkward interaction.
La rééducation is the French solution to this and has been paid for by French Social Security since 1985. France is one of the only countries that sponsors such a program, and the idea behind it is—well, there’s not just one idea, but many. It being France, everyone wants you to be able to have sex with your husband again as soon as possible. (You’ve gotta get that area back in shape before he gets fed up with your recovery and finds a mistress!) On the other hand, the government also wants to make sure you can easily and safely have another child; thanks in part to official encouragement, the French birthrate is now the second-highest in EU, at 2.1. And on a third hand, well, what the heck is going on down there, anyway? Will I really pee a little when I sneeze for the rest of my life?