Thanks For My Vagina, Mom!

Growing up as a nerdy tomboy meant things weren’t always easy for me, but if not for my mom, they’d have been a lot worse.

Mom and I always had this Gilmore Girl’s thing going on, and we talked about stuff like:

  • Penises
  • Sex
  • Hot Guys
  • Philosophy
  • Leonardo diCaprio (Who is not a hot guy, in fact. He’s Leonardo diCaprio and that’s his category, people.)
  • The meaning of life
  • Writing (because she’s a journalist and I’m a writer, so thank you genes)

We never had secrets. We couldn’t, because our apartment was super tiny. I won’t say that it was literally the size of a shoebox, because that’s a lie. No house is literally the size of a shoebox. Unless you’re a cat. But I digress.

Mom never spoiled me. She always told me when she thought I was right and when I wasn’t. And you know how moms are: they can see the future and they’re all-knowing, which meant she was right all the freaking time. It was very annoying. Still is.

Mom and I are so close, that after I met the man who would later become my husband, she asked, “Did you guys have sex?”

“Mom! No way, we just met!”

She was cutting carrots then, which was pretty ironic if you ask me. “You’ve been going out for a week now, and he’s leaving soon to God-knows-where.” She finished chopping the carrots and dropped them into a bowl. “If you feel ready, then you should have sex with him.”

“I want to,” I said, feeling my stomach churn. “But I’m scared. I’ve never had sex with a guy I met after a few days.” (Shut up, I was kind of a prude, all right?)

Mom rolled her eyes and said in the sweetest way possible. “Just enjoy life, and give him that glorious vagina I made, dear.”

WTF, mom!

But she was right, as always.

I did give him my glorious vagina, and it was magical and mind-blowing. I’m not sure if we’d be together to this day, if it weren’t for my mom’s advice.

So, Mom, this post is for you. Thanks for everything.

And my glorious vagina.