An Ode to Menstruation

I remember when I was 12 and had just finished a truly embarrassing sex ed unit with 40 other embarrassed prepubescents. All of the menstruation talk left me paranoid about getting my period. Who designed this crazy scheme where I’d basically pee blood for a week every month for the next 40 years? Why couldn’t anyone tell me when this party in my pants was going to start?

Over and over again, I’d review the symptoms in my head like a big checklist: tender breasts? Uh… nope. Headaches? I have two older brothers who will never outgrow leaving turds in the toilet unflushed for me to find as a little reminder of their greatness. Yeah, I’ve got headaches. Cramps? That’s a tricky one because the more you try to think if you have cramps, the more you can create cramps. Also, my grandmother often cooked old style Jewish food which means lots of roughage like cabbage covered in sauce with some meat thrown in somewhere. So on most days while I was convinced I was suffering from cramps, it was usually just explosive gas that would evoke awe from my brothers in the form of “good one!”.

Yet, on most days I was still convinced that I was suffering from THE cramps which I was also convinced would be immediately followed by a gush of blood that would flow down my legs and into my Keds if I didn’t catch it in time with a PAD, which is a nice way of saying “adult diaper.” I’d run to the bathroom, pull down my pants and look hopefully for that precious spot of blood that would mark my entry into womanhood. Of course, it wasn’t there.

It wasn’t that I wanted so badly to be an official woman or feel grown up or create a closer bond with my mom. Really, I just wanted to get the damn thing over with. Screw the “thrill of anticipation.” I wanted to my period to start so I had some sort of proof that I was normal. That I was on the right track. I didn’t have older sisters to learn from and my mom wasn’t really into bonding or having these sort of discussions. I think she figured school was taking care of it and anything else I needed to know I’d learn at a friends house or on an after-school special.

Eventually, I did get my proof, though I still don’t believe I’m all-the-way normal. I came home from school one day in sixth grade and found that my period had finally arrived. And that’s when I FREAKED OUT! I screamed for my housekeeper, yelling that I was hemorrhaging and to call an ambulance. Ok, so I tend to be a little over-dramatic at times. Sue me. She laughed at me and called my mom to tell her the news. My mom then calmly told me to get a pad from her closet and she’d see me when she got home from work. Pretty anticlimatic. I tried tell her that we had a serious problem on our hands. How could one of those pads possibly be enough? At the bottom of her bathroom closet I found a stash of pads in all different lengths and degrees of thickness. The classic signs of a mom who knows how to shop with coupons. What was the method to this madness? Which one do I use? I decided that I didn’t have time to make a real decision. I’d use one of each and figure out a better plan once my mom got home. I grabbed a clean pair of underwear and stuck one on top of the other then proceeded to take a first step as a Woman. Only, I couldn’t really step with all of that crap between my legs. I did manage to waddle, though. I waddled my way to my parent’s bed where I lay, watching TV until my mom got home. She took one look at me, shook her head, and probably wondered how she created such a dumbass, before handing me a pack of the thinnest pads in the bunch and kissing me on the head.

Getting a period is a huge deal in any girl’s life. It’s momentous. And it stays that way all through puberty and coming into adulthood. But somewhere along the line, your period becomes more than a monthly reminder of the wonders of mother nature. It becomes the Most Important Part of Each Month. Yes, they say sex changes everything and your views on menstruation are no exception.

Once you have sex you stop wearily stuffing tampons in your purse each month and revert back to when you were 12 and start running to the bathroom, hoping to see that precious spot of blood that means YOU’RE NOT PREGNANT! B and I have been together for over 7 years and married for two. So we’ve spent many months anxiously waiting for Aunt Flow and then doing Happy Dances to celebrate her arrival because we were in the clear – Game On! Now that we’ve decided to start trying to have a baby, it seems odd and almost illegal to not want Aunt Flow around anymore.

The first month of trying started off a little rocky, but I thought we ended well. I KNEW my increasing exhaustion was from a little baby growing inside me and NOT from my husband’s MacTruck snoring that can’t even be muffled by his sleep apnea mask (that Gasp! Doesn’t work when he rips it off his face in his sleep!) I proudly told B of my nausea at Publix when I smelled fried chicken and the seafood counter in one whiff. So I was startled! Shocked! Flabbergasted when I went to the bathroom and found that Aunt Flow had arrived. And for the first time, my husband and I were... sad. (Until B got excited at all of the "trying" we still had left to do.)

A lot of this whole trying-to-get pregnant business has to do with your mother’s experience when she was pregnant with you. Everyone asks questions about your mother’s pregnancy. How long did it take her to get pregnant with you? Did she have miscarriages? How many? Did she carry you low or high? But if your mom isn’t around to ask, HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW?