27 Weeks
I loved biology when I was a kid. I wanted to be a marine biologist for a long time, until I decided I wanted to be a writer because I could write more eloquently than I could swim. Yup, writing was much more practical.
I remember the first assignment I wrote in biology lab. The school I went to in England was originally a boy’s school built in 1893 on the site of the city's old Botanical Gardens. The school became co-ed the year I joined in 1989. I was one of about twenty girls in a group of over a hundred students. I was eleven years old.
I wasn't entirely sure what an 'orgasm' was at the time, so like a good little schoolgirl I looked it up in my Oxford English Dictionary:
Orgasm
noun
the climax of sexual excitement, characterized by intensely pleasurable feelings centred in the genitals and (in men) experienced as an accompaniment to ejaculation:
she managed to achieve an orgasm
[mass noun]:
they don’t know what it is to reach orgasm
Oh yes... orgasm. I can only imagine what my very proper, very British, biology teacher thought when he read that word peppered through my essay. He gave me a B-, with marks lost for poor attention to detail.
So my first introduction to the female orgasm was that (i) the orgasm was only obtained through sexual activity, (ii) that men ejaculate and women do not, and (iii) that there is a substantial population of 'they' in the world that "don't know what it is to reach orgasm", and it sucks to be them.
It's a reasonable definition, and I've never questioned it much. Until now.
Since I've become pregnant I swear on my quivering loins I've had more orgasms in the past 6 months than I've had in the past few years put together. The words 'orgasm' and 'tired thirty-five year old pregnant lady' are usually not synonymous, so trust me-- I'm as surprised as you are.
Here's how it works. I'll fall asleep exhausted. I'll dream really vivid really weird dreams about non-sexual things like brushing my teeth with a bar of soap. Sometimes something sexy will happen, usually with a person that is strange to me, or my husband, or on one occasion with Ryan Gosling. I'll then wake up to a string of 4 or 5 orgasms. I'll open my eyes, my husband snoring away beside me, my hands tucked innocently under my pillow. The orgasms will cease, but the warm sensation in my crotch and a lingering sense of confusion remains. I'm pregnant. I'm as rotund and hairy as a pot bellied pig. I'm supposed to be the antithesis of sexy. Right?
But then I started reading this book called "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth". Whether you plan to have a baby or not, I highly recommend reading Ina May's work. It's revolutionized my perception not only about the politics of pregnancy and birth, but also about female sexuality and the sheer genius of our beautiful bodies.
Ina May looks at being pregnant and giving birth not as an experience to simply survive, but something to fully immerse ourselves in, and for most women (complications aside) even enjoy.
Check out this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5bm9-B6Ec4
Anatomically, the idea of spontaneous orgasms during pregnancy and birth makes sense. Look what's happening in our bodies: increased blood flow, increased circulation and pressure on the vaginal canal, and increased sensitivity. And yet the sexual dimensions of pregnancy and birth are often ignored. It's certainly not something I've ever talked about.
Why?
Because we watched too much TV growing up, saw pregnant woman limp around in moo-moos and give birth screaming on their backs in hospital beds.
Because our mothers/ aunts/ sisters/ grandmothers/ girlfriends/ told us that pregnancy sucks and labour hurts like hell.
Because it would be embarrassing to doctors to have women pleasuring themselves though birth, even though pleasuring oneself has been proven to block pain (even in migraines) and aid in the birthing process.
Because most women in America give birth in settings where they aren't able to enjoy their bodies because of fetal monitoring devices, pain medication, C Sections, and the absence of food or water.
All of these limitations make a pleasurable birth experience less likely and less imaginable. Is it any wonder that our reproductive process is as uninviting as two-week-old bikini stubble?
My question to you is this, what if things were different? Suppose your best friend told you her pregnancy was awesome because her genitals were singing her to sleep every night. Or your Mom told you her birth was amazing because she had a midwife and a doula who helped her believe in herself, rather than some doctor complaining she was taking too long. Or when your aunt had a caesarean, the doctors broke their respectful silence only to sing happy birthday softly to her baby as they pulled it out of the womb and placed is straight into her arms.
Even if you suffered horrible morning sickness, gas, or bloating, would knowing that this kind of pleasure is possible make the prospect of surviving pregnancy and giving birth more empowering?
Orgasms aside, our attitude towards birth and pregnancy sucks. Our fear and shame are sad, not only because they are limiting our potential to experience life to the fullest, but also because they speak to our lack of trust of woman in general. The implication is that women can't be independent, that women's bodies can't be trusted, and that women can't do anything right.
To be honest I don't think my spontaneous orgasms will last through labour, unfortunately. However, I truly believe that Ina May and the Orgasmic Birth movement are onto something. Our bodies are not a dangerous mistake to be heavily medicated under the glare of bright lights. Our bodies are powerful and sexy, and that sexiness is not something to be ashamed about. It's something to talk about.
Women are truly miraculous orgasms.
I mean organisms.
(!)
I loved biology when I was a kid. I wanted to be a marine biologist for a long time, until I decided I wanted to be a writer because I could write more eloquently than I could swim. Yup, writing was much more practical.
I remember the first assignment I wrote in biology lab. The school I went to in England was originally a boy’s school built in 1893 on the site of the city's old Botanical Gardens. The school became co-ed the year I joined in 1989. I was one of about twenty girls in a group of over a hundred students. I was eleven years old.
We were instructed to write a two-page essay on the
characteristics of a living organism: nutrition, excretion, respiration,
sensitivity, reproduction, growth, and movement. I felt pretty confident I'd
aced my assignment, science buff that I was, but to my surprise my marked
essay was returned covered in red ink. Apparently I'd made a few spelling
mistakes. In place of the word 'organism', I'd repeatedly written the word
'orgasm'. My teacher circled the offending words and drew an arrow followed by an exclamation mark (!) in the margin.
I wasn't entirely sure what an 'orgasm' was at the time, so like a good little schoolgirl I looked it up in my Oxford English Dictionary:
noun
the climax of sexual excitement, characterized by intensely pleasurable feelings centred in the genitals and (in men) experienced as an accompaniment to ejaculation:
she managed to achieve an orgasm
[mass noun]:
they don’t know what it is to reach orgasm
Oh yes... orgasm. I can only imagine what my very proper, very British, biology teacher thought when he read that word peppered through my essay. He gave me a B-, with marks lost for poor attention to detail.
So my first introduction to the female orgasm was that (i) the orgasm was only obtained through sexual activity, (ii) that men ejaculate and women do not, and (iii) that there is a substantial population of 'they' in the world that "don't know what it is to reach orgasm", and it sucks to be them.
It's a reasonable definition, and I've never questioned it much. Until now.
Since I've become pregnant I swear on my quivering loins I've had more orgasms in the past 6 months than I've had in the past few years put together. The words 'orgasm' and 'tired thirty-five year old pregnant lady' are usually not synonymous, so trust me-- I'm as surprised as you are.
Here's how it works. I'll fall asleep exhausted. I'll dream really vivid really weird dreams about non-sexual things like brushing my teeth with a bar of soap. Sometimes something sexy will happen, usually with a person that is strange to me, or my husband, or on one occasion with Ryan Gosling. I'll then wake up to a string of 4 or 5 orgasms. I'll open my eyes, my husband snoring away beside me, my hands tucked innocently under my pillow. The orgasms will cease, but the warm sensation in my crotch and a lingering sense of confusion remains. I'm pregnant. I'm as rotund and hairy as a pot bellied pig. I'm supposed to be the antithesis of sexy. Right?
But then I started reading this book called "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth". Whether you plan to have a baby or not, I highly recommend reading Ina May's work. It's revolutionized my perception not only about the politics of pregnancy and birth, but also about female sexuality and the sheer genius of our beautiful bodies.
Ina May looks at being pregnant and giving birth not as an experience to simply survive, but something to fully immerse ourselves in, and for most women (complications aside) even enjoy.
Check out this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5bm9-B6Ec4
Anatomically, the idea of spontaneous orgasms during pregnancy and birth makes sense. Look what's happening in our bodies: increased blood flow, increased circulation and pressure on the vaginal canal, and increased sensitivity. And yet the sexual dimensions of pregnancy and birth are often ignored. It's certainly not something I've ever talked about.
Why?
Because we watched too much TV growing up, saw pregnant woman limp around in moo-moos and give birth screaming on their backs in hospital beds.
Because our mothers/ aunts/ sisters/ grandmothers/ girlfriends/ told us that pregnancy sucks and labour hurts like hell.
Because it would be embarrassing to doctors to have women pleasuring themselves though birth, even though pleasuring oneself has been proven to block pain (even in migraines) and aid in the birthing process.
Because most women in America give birth in settings where they aren't able to enjoy their bodies because of fetal monitoring devices, pain medication, C Sections, and the absence of food or water.
All of these limitations make a pleasurable birth experience less likely and less imaginable. Is it any wonder that our reproductive process is as uninviting as two-week-old bikini stubble?
My question to you is this, what if things were different? Suppose your best friend told you her pregnancy was awesome because her genitals were singing her to sleep every night. Or your Mom told you her birth was amazing because she had a midwife and a doula who helped her believe in herself, rather than some doctor complaining she was taking too long. Or when your aunt had a caesarean, the doctors broke their respectful silence only to sing happy birthday softly to her baby as they pulled it out of the womb and placed is straight into her arms.
Even if you suffered horrible morning sickness, gas, or bloating, would knowing that this kind of pleasure is possible make the prospect of surviving pregnancy and giving birth more empowering?
Orgasms aside, our attitude towards birth and pregnancy sucks. Our fear and shame are sad, not only because they are limiting our potential to experience life to the fullest, but also because they speak to our lack of trust of woman in general. The implication is that women can't be independent, that women's bodies can't be trusted, and that women can't do anything right.
To be honest I don't think my spontaneous orgasms will last through labour, unfortunately. However, I truly believe that Ina May and the Orgasmic Birth movement are onto something. Our bodies are not a dangerous mistake to be heavily medicated under the glare of bright lights. Our bodies are powerful and sexy, and that sexiness is not something to be ashamed about. It's something to talk about.
Women are truly miraculous orgasms.
(!)
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