Having a baby is the world’s single most courageous feat. So why would a textbook publisher illustrate it with a picture of a woman with trimmed pubic hair?
“Make yourself at home,” the midwife said, as I hove into the birthing room like a galleon in full sail. Immediately, I ripped off my shirt, dropped my trousers, stepped out of my knickers and lay, utterly naked, across the blue-plastic-covered bed. I must have looked like a spider, pinned beneath a boiled egg.
Labour is no time to be thinking of your appearance. Pregnancy is no time to worry about your genital grooming. However you give birth, vaginally or surgically, your body is about to accomplish the single greatest, most courageous, universally impressive feat known to humanity – a bit of fluff around the corners cannot possibly take the shine off that. So it comes as something of a surprise to discover that many first-time mothers now prepare for labour with bikini waxes, a heavy Immac session or other forms of deforestation. Never mind that the Royal College of Midwives has repeatedly stated that there is no need to do so, that no health professional will even notice and that pubic hair will have absolutely no effect on your baby’s health. If you need a C-section, they will shave whatever needs to be shaved. If you deliver vaginally, there will be bigger things to think about than a couple of short and curlies.
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Of course, your body, your choice and every woman has the right to treat her nether regions as she sees fit. But it was heartening to read the recent apology from the school textbook publisher Pearson Edexcel (a name that will act like a sour batch of Proust’s madeleines on many of us) for an illustration in its 2017 International GCSE Human Biology textbook, which appeared to show a pregnant woman with a brazilian-style landing strip of pubes. The image, arguably, not only reinforced current social pressures on women to remove their pubic hair but, in a medical and educational setting, failed to show how bodies naturally grow.
As I felt my baby’s head, shoulders and hips squeeze through my body like shelving brackets down a toothpaste tube, I couldn’t have cared less about my pubes. I don’t remember my two angelic midwives scooping a turd out of the birthing pool with a small sieve; I don’t remember the look on my partner’s face as I turned puce with the effort of pushing; I don’t remember what happened to my damp and discarded knickers. But I do remember looking down between my legs and seeing, miraculously, my tiny purple son bobbing up into the water before me. In that moment, nothing else in the world existed. And that’s the honest, bald truth.
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… and we’d like to explain why. Our journalism now reaches record numbers around the world and more than a million people have supported our reporting. We continue to face financial challenges but, unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall. We want our journalism to remain accessible to all, regardless of where they live or what they can afford.
This is The Guardian’s model for open, independent journalism: free for those who can’t afford it, supported by those who can. Readers’ support powers our work, safeguarding our essential editorial independence. This means the responsibility of protecting independent journalism is shared, enabling us all to feel empowered to bring about real change in the world. Your support gives Guardian journalists the time, space and freedom to report with tenacity and rigour, to shed light where others won’t. It emboldens us to challenge authority and question the status quo. And by keeping all of our journalism free and open to all, we can foster inclusivity, diversity, make space for debate, inspire conversation – so more people have access to accurate information with integrity at its heart.
Guardian journalism is rooted in facts with a progressive perspective on the world. We are editorially independent, meaning we set our own agenda. Our journalism is free from commercial bias and not influenced by billionaire owners, politicians or shareholders. No one steers our opinion. At a time when there are so few sources of information you can really trust, this is vital as it enables us to give a voice to those less heard, challenge the powerful and hold them to account. Your support means we can keep investigating and exploring the critical issues of our time.
Our model allows people to support us in a way that works for them. Every time a reader like you makes a contribution to The Guardian, no matter how big or small, it goes directly into funding our journalism. But we need to build on this support for the years ahead. Support The Guardian from as little as $1 – and it only takes a minute. Thank you.
“Make yourself at home,” the midwife said, as I hove into the birthing room like a galleon in full sail. Immediately, I ripped off my shirt, dropped my trousers, stepped out of my knickers and lay, utterly naked, across the blue-plastic-covered bed. I must have looked like a spider, pinned beneath a boiled egg.
Labour is no time to be thinking of your appearance. Pregnancy is no time to worry about your genital grooming. However you give birth, vaginally or surgically, your body is about to accomplish the single greatest, most courageous, universally impressive feat known to humanity – a bit of fluff around the corners cannot possibly take the shine off that. So it comes as something of a surprise to discover that many first-time mothers now prepare for labour with bikini waxes, a heavy Immac session or other forms of deforestation. Never mind that the Royal College of Midwives has repeatedly stated that there is no need to do so, that no health professional will even notice and that pubic hair will have absolutely no effect on your baby’s health. If you need a C-section, they will shave whatever needs to be shaved. If you deliver vaginally, there will be bigger things to think about than a couple of short and curlies.
Sign up for the Fashion Statement email
Read more
Of course, your body, your choice and every woman has the right to treat her nether regions as she sees fit. But it was heartening to read the recent apology from the school textbook publisher Pearson Edexcel (a name that will act like a sour batch of Proust’s madeleines on many of us) for an illustration in its 2017 International GCSE Human Biology textbook, which appeared to show a pregnant woman with a brazilian-style landing strip of pubes. The image, arguably, not only reinforced current social pressures on women to remove their pubic hair but, in a medical and educational setting, failed to show how bodies naturally grow.
As I felt my baby’s head, shoulders and hips squeeze through my body like shelving brackets down a toothpaste tube, I couldn’t have cared less about my pubes. I don’t remember my two angelic midwives scooping a turd out of the birthing pool with a small sieve; I don’t remember the look on my partner’s face as I turned puce with the effort of pushing; I don’t remember what happened to my damp and discarded knickers. But I do remember looking down between my legs and seeing, miraculously, my tiny purple son bobbing up into the water before me. In that moment, nothing else in the world existed. And that’s the honest, bald truth.
We’re doing something different…
… and we’d like to explain why. Our journalism now reaches record numbers around the world and more than a million people have supported our reporting. We continue to face financial challenges but, unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall. We want our journalism to remain accessible to all, regardless of where they live or what they can afford.
This is The Guardian’s model for open, independent journalism: free for those who can’t afford it, supported by those who can. Readers’ support powers our work, safeguarding our essential editorial independence. This means the responsibility of protecting independent journalism is shared, enabling us all to feel empowered to bring about real change in the world. Your support gives Guardian journalists the time, space and freedom to report with tenacity and rigour, to shed light where others won’t. It emboldens us to challenge authority and question the status quo. And by keeping all of our journalism free and open to all, we can foster inclusivity, diversity, make space for debate, inspire conversation – so more people have access to accurate information with integrity at its heart.
Guardian journalism is rooted in facts with a progressive perspective on the world. We are editorially independent, meaning we set our own agenda. Our journalism is free from commercial bias and not influenced by billionaire owners, politicians or shareholders. No one steers our opinion. At a time when there are so few sources of information you can really trust, this is vital as it enables us to give a voice to those less heard, challenge the powerful and hold them to account. Your support means we can keep investigating and exploring the critical issues of our time.
Our model allows people to support us in a way that works for them. Every time a reader like you makes a contribution to The Guardian, no matter how big or small, it goes directly into funding our journalism. But we need to build on this support for the years ahead. Support The Guardian from as little as $1 – and it only takes a minute. Thank you.
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