Shaving Down Below While Very Pregnant: A Cautionary Tale

shaving incidentEver since I started shaving my legs in the sixth grade, I’ve been meticulous about removing all the hair I have south of my belly button. But when I became pregnant with twins battling with my bush wasn’t just impractical, it was impossible.

I was on bed rest and only allowed a five minute shower while seated on a chair every other day. Since sex was off the table and the only one seeing me naked was my OB, I decided to let nature have its way with me.

At first l liked being all natural, imagining that this is what the 70s must have been like. But after a month or so, things started to go from groovy to gross. I was a sweaty pregnant woman laying on my side all day and the trapped sweat, extra body secretions and hair meant my cotton granny panties developed a rainforest-like ecosystem by 4 pm every day.

Having reached the end of the internet by week three of my bedroom blockade, I spent a lot of time reading birthing books. I flipped ahead to the post-delivery section and thought about how messy things would get when my impressive pelvic pelt was caked with blood for weeks on end.

In addition to the desire to avoid a mess, my hormones were urging me to trim the hedges. My birthing class had been full of pregnant labor and delivery nurses who squealed when I told them who my doctor was and confided that on the floor they called him Dr. McDreamy. They told me that he was just the tip of the eye candy buffet working in maternity. Even though I’m very happily married, vanity urged me to try and make a good impression. I realize now how this makes no sense, but I blame pregnancy brain for my lack of logic at the time. Plus, I was bored out of my mind with nothing to do. So I decided to completely shave my pubic area bare, all while laying on my side per strict bed rest orders.

I asked my husband gather my supplies and settled in with my tools for the task: a fresh razor, shave gel, a spray bottle of water, a cup for cleaning the razor, towels, a pillow to rest my leg on and a three way mirror, complete with directed lighting and a magnifying side I vowed not to use. It was go time.

The human body is beautiful in all forms, but I was not prepared for what greeted me in the mirror when I looked down. All that weight gain to my nether regions plus a full seven months worth of growth meant Chewbacca was staring back at me. I swear it winked.

Since I had nothing but time on my hands, I started slowly, each section requiring several passes with the razor to cut through the underbrush. After an hour or so (not including a mid-session snack break) I had made considerable progress. My lady garden wasn’t going to win me any blue ribbons, but I could let my OB get down there at my next visit without offering him some bobby pins and a scrunchie first.

If I had any sense, I would have quit while I was ahead but my type A nature kicked, fueled by the sugar and protein in the Snickers bar I had just consumed. I decided I couldn’t declare myself done without taking a pair of scissors to those long hairs that were lingering near my, ah, exit.

By this point I was starting to get crabby that I was spending more time on my pubic region for childbirth than I did in preparation for my wedding without the promise of any of the same rewards. Also, I really had to pee. So I started to rush. Rather than use the mirror to verify each snip, I got cocky and started to work off feel, using my fingers to guide the scissors before snipping. And that’s when I felt it, a sharp, quick stab and a trickle of something warm running down my thigh. And then the pain started.

Once I had stopped screaming long enough to look down and assure myself that I hadn’t just performed my own episiotomy, I saw the damage– I had made an impressive slice in my inner labia. Fun pregnancy fact: your blood volume increases by nearly half when pregnant. I’m fairly certain I lost at least 63% of that over the next hour. I debated what was worth more to me, maintaining my pride by getting out of bed to hunt for some first aid materials at the risk of inducing preterm labor, or staying pregnant but calling for my husband to come help me with a task he surely never contemplated when he made that whole ” in sickness and in health” vow.

As it turns out, he’s not good with blood and bad at finding things, so I had to get up anyway and clench my thighs together with the hopes that the babies would stay put. Ironically, the only thing I could find to stanch the bloodflow was a maxi pad I found abandoned in a purse from my pre-pregnancy days. I got back in bed and Googled various combinations of “vaginal stitches”, “when to go to the hospital for blood loss”, “can shaving cut cause labor to start” and “ultimate chocolate chip cookie recipe” until the cut finally stopped bleeding.

Four days later when I went into labor, I gave not a single shit about my pubic hair.

(image:  /Shutterstock.com)

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