Attn Moms: Is Your Vag Courageous?

I originally conceived of The Red Vag of Courage a day or two after my daughter was born. I wanted to put together a darkly funny, pleasantly vulgar book about childbirth and motherhood. The idea was these magical talented women with tons of time on their hands would errupt from the wood paneling of my college apartment and be so inspired by my clever title that their own stories would spring forth onto paper so I could compile them with my own and... But that was just the problem. I really didn't have the time or other resources to gather the stories, much less the expertise to put a book together. So the idea has been festering in the back of my mind ever since. Then, a friend of mine kept talking about this new fangled blogger thing. Yes, I know it's not new! But, I'm a recently reformed technophobe so cut me some slack. Anyway, I eventually realized that my vision is a project perfect for the world wide web of bored, bedraggled mothers like myself just itching for a creative outlet or at least a little comedic relief. In short my goal is to furnish this blog with the stories of other mothers. Credit for the stories will be attributed as the author requests, you can use your real name, a pen name, or remain a anonymous. It's completely up to you. And I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE to be honest. I will not steal or cannibalize your stories. Generous, courageous, creative mothers submit your stories to: theredvagofcourage@gmail.com, and your story will appear here shortly.
I'm a relatively new "stay-at-home-mom"-btw, that's something we all need to work on-s.a.h.m... mmmm... an outmoded and inaccurate title indeed. Someone should come up with something better than that. Anyway, I am the mother of a nine month old girl (my first, and destined to be my only for the next few years, Trojan willing.) My daughter is the apple of my eye, the Ren of my Stimpy, the boss of my mob... she kicks my ass, bathes my soul, and opens my eyes to love, beauty and depths of feeling I had not known I was capable of experiencing before.
Before the immaculate conception of my daughter (my boyfriend and I had taken a shower about fifteen minutes prior) I had never invisioned myself as a Stay@home. I had not planned on becoming a parent for a long time. A LONG time, some time in the distant, misty, post grad, possibly tenure-weilding future. But as fate would have it during my the last semester of my junior year as an English major, an unsuccessful bout of coitus interruptus led to a wholly and stupidly unexpected interruption of a different variety, all of a sudden I could no longer drink, I could no longer smoke, I could no longer pop adderall like a WWII fighter pilot, and I soon realized that my last semester as an undergrad was going to coincide almost perfectly with my last trimester as a bloated but relatively free woman.