My clicking vagina
And having a support squad in my pants
Something of note has happened to my private parts after having children. My lady bits now make a clicking sound when I walk. Not all the time, just now and again. It’s probably loud enough for other people to hear but it’s not exactly a common sound, so an innocent bystander might mistake it for my knee clicking or a creaky foot instead of my loose flapping vag blowing in the wind.
I failed to mention this to Fiona, my women’s health physio, when I visited her clinic last week. We chatted away about life, me on my back, legs splayed as she felt around inside me as though searching for her keys.
“Any other issues?” she asked.
I shook my head. It was enough that I’d just told her that I wet myself when running (I thought this was to be expected after having three children, but she did not) and that I have to wee about thirty times a day. I didn’t feel like adding in that I have a musical vagina as well.
When you’ve kids there’s a loss of dignity that goes with it. During the labour, you’ve doctors looking up your hole, stitching it together and inviting crowds in to take a look, but you kind of don’t care. “Ask the janitor in,” I wanted to shout as an intern came in for a look on my last child. “And what about the woman in the cafe who serves the coffee? Bring her in for a gander.”
Doctors and nurses stick utensils and fingers up there, maybe even their legs, who knows? So, it’s no wonder after having multiple children that my nether regions are in need of a bit of a service. And look, it could be worse, I mean what’s a few vaginal clicks every now and again? I mean it could be growling. I suppose that’s why they call it a growler. Is that actually a medical term?
“Maam, You’ve got a case of the growlers,” a doctor might tell an anxious woman after her hoo-ha scared a cat half to death.
So, yea, an auld clicky minge ain’t so bad, and lately I’ve been ‘reframing’ the sound just as a therapist might recommend. In the vein of ‘turn that frown upside-down,’ I’ve started to think, what if it’s not a click but a clap? This helps me view the sound as like having my very own support squad in my knickers, rather than a scream of help coming from a geriatric body part that has been through too much.
It doesn’t clap all the time, in fact I’m not sure when it happens and whether there’s a pattern to it. And after observing it for a few weeks, I still don’t know if it happens when I’ve done something great, or when I need some extra support. It seems a bit haphazard. Like, for example, when my seven-year old was refusing to go swimming and I got down to his level and talked him calmly into the pool. As I walked to the viewing gallery and towards the other parents, I heard the distinct sound of my vagina clapping. My interpretation of it was that it was applauding and saying, “Go you, sister, you nailed that one!” I stood a little taller and whispered “thanks, vag.”
But then last week, when I made an inappropriate joke at the school gates by comparing my toddler to Harvey Weinstein, I heard a couple of long, loud claps coming from my pants as though sarcastic and saying, “Oh well done, you fucking idiot.” It was a vaginal-eye-roll. Message understood, don’t compare toddler to sex pest, vagina does not like it.
So anyway, for my weeing issue, Fiona sent me home with some stretching exercises, Kegels and I’ve to measure my piss and keep a bladder diary. I’ll be using the jug I mix the children’s pancakes in to wee into. I also need to writhe around on a spikey ball four times a week. If I do all of this, I’ll definitely deserve a round of applause.
