Eight things no one ever tells you about your body after a baby.

I’ve done it again. I recently gave birth to another tiny human. I secretly thought the only way I’d be going through pregnancy and labour again, is the half chance of popping out a baby with a fanny.

Well, knowing my luck, a penis emerged.

Not sure what to expect during childbirth and labour? I've got you covered.

Are you ready?

I mean, are you sure you’re ready? Because these points might just want to make you go tie your tubes.

Dropping the first load. 

Alright, no one told me that going for your first number two after you’ve just had a baby is comparable to trying to push Ayers Rock out of your rectals. It’s like giving birth for the second – or third time. After the placenta. Out of your bumhole.

Mamamia's new podcast Me After You explores how women's bodies change after having a baby. Post continues after audio.

Midwives are going to cheer you on while you hesitantly proceed to the hospital bathroom in unimaginable fear. Not only are you fearing for your life, but you hold the gravest of concerns for the health and safety of your rear-end orifice.

All of a sudden, you’ll feel the strong urge to believe in something. Anything. You’ll be praying to all the gods under the sun to send their blessings to your derriere, desperately hoping that the food you ate for lunch will roll out smooth as half melted chocolate. Amen.

That, ladies, is how I believe all religions began.

The bitch of an itch.

Ever had an itch that you just couldn’t scratch because it came from deep within your skin, or you’re scratching away but just can’t seem to hit the spot?

Lawd almighty, the postpartum itch was the worst I had ever experienced in my life. And it came from my body’s core.

I was damn near ready to stick a back scratcher up my tampon tunnel just so that I could give my healing uterus the scratch of a lifetime.

The ring of fire.

Ladies, UTIs ain’t got nothin’ on this inferno that ignites in your undies every time you go for a wee.

It’s unfortunate that we weren’t graced with dicks so that we can point our pee-holes away from the healing tears that childbirth brought about, so we are left with a raging bushfire every time we run to the loo to relieve our bladders.

But, oh no, the inferno party doesn’t just hang around the vaginal scene. The party goes all the way up to your anus, because pushing a baby’s head out of your vajoots leaves you with a connecting express pathway to your a-hole.

Any surface you sit on will look like a murder scene.

The floor, the bed or couch, and pretty much any surface you grace your bottom with, will wind up looking like the scene of a heinous crime.

That burgundy waterfall pouring out of your fanny cannot be contained. I repeat, CANNOT be contained. By anything. Not even the Hoover Dam.

It’s like the biblical flood raining out of your cooch – you may even consider the construction of an arc so that you can save your family from this vag-pocalypse that has struck your household.

Gather all the ice packs.

Speaking of impending vag-pocalypses, the one thing that will save your life and put out the bushfire that’s raging in your panties, is sitting on an ice pack.

You never thought you would ever shove an ice pack down there, did you?

I even considered booking a ticket to Antarctica, just so I could go sit and soothe my woman bits on never-ending shelves of ice. Or dip my behind into the bitterly cold waters so I could numb me bum.

Tit-erections.

The ‘breast’ thing to come out of labour and childbirth (apart from your bundle of joy), is well, the free boob job.

After birth, your body almost becomes one with your baby’s needs. So if you’re out on a baby-free day and having lunch with mates, your titties will bloody well know when it’s time for a feed.

If you’ve ever wondered, as a female, what it’s like to have an erection. Well, there you go. Say hello to tit-erections.

Don’t cough, sneeze, or blow your nose.

Because that’s not going to end well for your undies.

No one told me about pelvic floor exercises and the tragic fact that after childbirth, you will need to do these for the rest of your life if you want to prevent yourself from pissing your pants every time you laugh or cry.

No one told me about prolapse and the fact that your bowels (yes, your goddamn rectum and intestines) can collapse into your vagina and make that area its new ‘hood.

So, remember to do your exercises, and if you must cough, sneeze or blow your nose – cross your legs. Tight.

The after cramps.

Apparently, your uterus needs to contract to its original size post-birth. Okay, fair enough. I don’t mind body bits returning to their original position and size – but fuck me. It’s like having contractions all over again.

I mean, if there is a God, he really did not like the female species. I’m pretty certain that mofo is sitting up there eating popcorn and having a good ole laugh each time a woman goes into labour.

But the entertainment doesn’t stop there.

Because watching her in recovery, wearing a pad the size of a surfboard, accidentally pissing and sharting her pants, experiencing tit-erections, leaving traces of blood on the floor, and kneeling over in pain from after cramps is equivalent to Netflix and Chill.

So, what does labour feel like?

Imagine your vag is getting struck by lightning. Over and over again. Then, Bruce Li walks over and proceeds to pummel you in the abdomen with his fists of fury. Whilst, simultaneously, Conor McGregor appears out of thin air and decides to Muay Thai kick you in the back.

Except you can’t tap out.

All the while, a furious and unstoppable desire to take the biggest and most epic dump of your life engulfs you.

That is what labour feels like. So, take the epidural.

This post originally appeared on Hangry By Nature and has been republished here with full permission.

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