Gay Uncle Brett's expectant friend is in dire need of a wax.
Brett Berk: I was recently in Chicago for work, which gave me the opportunity to visit John and Mary. This pair used to be our last set of straight, childless friends. Not anymore.
They're due to have a baby in late April. We know them extremely well. In the "we went to college together/we've gone on two-dozen joint vacations/we have sleepover and skinny-dipping parties" kind of way. So it wasn't exactly surprising when -- sitting in their kitchen -- the subject of Mary's vagina came up. We've seen it many times. We've joked repeatedly about how much sausage it can take. It's been the vessel for smuggling illicit substances on airplanes. It has a cute little Hitler mustache. Or, it used to. "I'm overdue for a wax," she told me. Her husband nodded in sincere agreement.
This seemed suspicious: the first sign of the Mommy's-Let-Herself-Go syndrome, which didn't seem proper for a girl who's always sported a six-pack. My expression must have communicated my concern, because Mary shrugged, defensively, sarcastically. "What?" She patted her soccer-ball belly. "I can't even see it anymore without a mirror. Out of sight, out of mind." I smiled. "Still, you might want to consider doing something about it soon. You're probably in that stubbly, growing out phase." John nodded again. "Make an appointment. You don't want to scratch up the baby's face when it comes out. Infant skin can bruise easily. And permanently."
John and I went downtown that night and had a slumber party at my hotel room, performing an epic mini-bar raid that resulted in security being called. And I had to fly out the next day. So I left it at that. Until momlogic ran its piece on Vaggie Reju (Vaginal Rejuvenation), which reminded me about Mary's cooter. "Did you get on it yet?" I asked. "I want to write about the parturient pu-nana and need graphic details." She wrote back later that day. "I've been putting it off because, as I'm sure you know, a good vag wax lasts only 8 weeks and I'm due in about eight weeks, so I figured I'd wait until it got a little closer, so I won't feel the need to rush right back to the waxer the day after the delivery to keep it all trim and tame down there." This note was even more disturbing to me than her original lack of waxing. I wrote back right away. "Um. You're due in five weeks. Denial!!!" The reply was instantaneous. "Five? Gulp. Maybe it is time to get a wax." It may be her last for some time.
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Brett Berk, M.S. Ed. has worked with young children and their families for over 20 years--as a classroom teacher, preschool director, and research consultant--and is the author of "The Gay Uncle's Guide to Parenting." |
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