Last night I went to see a student performance of the Vagina Monologues; this was the second time I’ve gone (last time was in 2004, I think – pre-IF). I laughed, I cried, I hurt. What a roller-coaster. The call for peace was particularly powerful for me as they explored the damage and violence done to women in wartime. There was just one thing, though – a liner note in the program from someone on the production team thanking her son for “putting my vagina on the map” – that was hard to read. Where does that leave my childless vagina, or that of someone who’s had a C-section, or a child by adoption or surrogacy? Nowhere? The moon? I know there was no slight intended, at it really was just meant to be about that particular person’s feelings about her child, her vagina, her motherhood, but for me it was a little jab, a little stab on a very sore spot. Not even on the map, people. Whatever.