When Your Mommy's a Midwife...

In the majority of this world, sex sells.  In my world, sex pays.  I make my living talking about sex, helping people have better sex, preventing babies showing up from all the sex I talk about, and catching babies that show up after even more sex I haven't talked about.

Unfortunately for my daughters, they can't escape my role in the sex trade even when I'm home.  Given all the after hours call I do, they have been exposed to my odd vocabulary during phone conversations instead of what I imagine your average homemaker discusses.  Those words include, but are not limited to:  vaginal discharge, vaginal bleeding, nipples, breasts, intercourse, semen...  the list is endless really.  They also get to hear me rant about vaginal health and genital grooming habits on nearly a daily basis.  My 16 year old has apparently lectured other teens about her favorite mommy quote, "the vagina is a self cleaning oven...  leave it alone," Her second favorite?  "Your vagina is supposed to smell like a vagina, not roses...  leave it alone."  It probably wouldn't be quite so weird if my daughters' friends weren't also exposed to my vernacular and genital soapboxes during their frequent visits to mi casa.  Kayley's friend Bryna spent the entire summer spreading the anti-genital grooming gospel and begged her drum and bugle corp friends to stop shaving their biz-iz-nays.  She was disappointed that her inherited pearls of wisdom were not well received by the teen band geek crowd.

Despite the fact that I have a very odd career, I feel that my daughters benefit from my total lack of embarrassment or boundaries.  My lack of couth allows me to discuss human anatomy and sexual reproduction in any situation and with any audience without discomfort.  It also ensures that my kiddos know facts about sexual relationships instead of heresay gleaned from bathroom stall walls.  Because I am rarely embarrassed, my girlies are pretty unhindered when addressing their issues with me.  This makes for some darn interesting and downright hilarious interactions.  For instance, my younger babies have a brisk trade in back alley Cesarean Sections.  They are constantly delivering each other's "babies" in their closets.  Don't get excited, they just cram a stuffed animal under their shirts, then take turns ripping it out and announcing that another baby has arrived.  If you need another example of how awesome my kids are, take this beauty Kayley left on my dresser when she was about 12:

Under normal circumstances, I frown on using "baby hole" when discussing the vagina, but at least my pre-teen knew she HAD more than one hole!  Plus, that daisy she drew with an obvious painful vaginitis made me pee my drawers.  Kayley detests the fact that I have saved this priceless work of art, but I have derived so much happiness from this stupid piece of paper that I refuse to let it go now!  Yep, being a midwife is pretty fantastic, but having a mommy that's a midwife?  Well that's better than cream for your itchy baby hole!