Two weeks ago, while at my parents' house, I felt my body changing. I couldn't put my finger on what was happening, but I just felt my body shifting gears. I complained to Tim and a few friends who kindly offered condolences because what else were they were supposed to do, but everyone was convinced I was a) pregnant or b) on the verge of getting my period.
More than two people had me convinced I was pregnant with their comments about the small bulge around my midsection, and even though I was showing no signs of pregnancy, I rushed to Target just before closing one night and peed on a stick (ok, two sticks actually because I never trust just one) and anxiously waited for the results with my foot furiously banging the floor. After only about 45 seconds (I'm not patient), I peeked and saw the single line and felt relief and sadness at the same time. I hate that single line result, even if I am not ready for another baby and may never be. That single line is probably the worst test result on the planet. I'd rather flunk my final class in college that see that line, especially if I am hoping for the opposite answer.
But I felt relief that night, except that relief was suddenly caught up in a world of fear, knowing my period was close. I only had 1 period between Elle and Felicity so the idea of a period made me cringe. I waited and waited the entire time I was at my parents' house, and nothing happened. My body kept bloating. My clothes kept fitting funny. My mood kept being somewhat cranky. But nothing happened.
Until today. I woke up. I ran. Around mile 3, I felt my body start to shut down. I generally push through the exhaustion, but today I couldn't. I walked for about 100 meters and started running again. I did my ab workout (not well I might add). After, I found myself standing motionless in the shower, allowing the scalding water to hit the small of my back. The pain was subtle but there. I stepped out of the shower to an unexpected text message from a family member in trouble. I instantly cried. The day spiraled downhill from there. In an effort to help my family, I asked my kids to be patient with me while I handled "important" matters. (Important to my kids always has to do with food so since I was not preparing any type of snack you can only imagine how this went over.) No one was patient with me. Not even for a 2-minute phone call. I started to lose my cool. Then I lost my cool. Then I lost it again. And again. And then I put myself in time out. I rested on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan, and I suddenly felt dizzy.
I knew what was happening. I didn't want to believe it, but I knew. I walked to the bathroom and found myself cramping. And there she was. My period. My least-favorite friend. I love to hate her.
Periods are the worst. I always tell Tim that if I die before him I am going to send him back cramps and crotch pains just so he can sort of understand. He rolls his eyes at me every time. (He has no idea how I am serious on this matter. And isn't crotch a terrible word?! Ugh.) But men...seriously...no matter how much you think you get it, you don't. Periods. Birth. Infertility. Menopause. Women a wide variety of pain levels, and most of them mean we endure several minutes/hours/days/nights of complete hell. Sure, there are rewards to the hell, but I think the ultimate relief only comes when menopause is complete, and our bodies are so tired of being work horses that they are just void of feeling. Haha. But seriously.
Anyway, the point of this post is that moms should really get a free day on the first day of their period because we cannot be held accountable for our actions. Damn periods. Our rational reasoning surrenders to the jabbing pains below our belly buttons. And if anyone dares argue with me on this point, well, you probably just shouldn't. I'll win. I promise, even if it means I haunt you too when I'm dead and gone. (Cue evil grin.)