Coop had a doctor’s appointment mid-morning, so I decided it’d be fun for him to skip school all day.
We had a plan. Doc. Library. Park. Lunch. Jeni’s. Grocery. Home.
I’ve had kids long enough to know having a plan is a sure-fire why to jump off a building mid-way through said plan.
But this time, the kids didn’t throw the wrench.
It was my uterus.
I swear to you it’s like I’m carrying a raging lion in my nether region. Yes, this is probably too much info. But we’re all adults. Most of us are women who’ve had their own raging uterus. Let’s all huddle around and hug each other. We put up with way too much from this little bitch.
Cramps that can almost chain you to the couch. Cramps that will stop you from taking a step. Lower back pain that makes you feel 30 years older. Bloat that will cause a waitress to ask, “When are you due, Sweetie.” Rage that will then cause you to rip out the Waitress’ throat Dalton style from Road House. Tears spilled for a hang nail that closely resemble the tears spilt for a dead Grandma.
If you’re lucky, you’re able to hit the couch. You’re able to load up on drugs to ease the pain. If you’re lucky you’ve never had a man say, “So you’re going to blame this on your period?” or “Geez you’re PMS-y.” If you’re lucky, you’re always able to find a tampon. You’ve never ruined your pants/skirt/new undies. You’ve never had to create a make-shift pad out of napkins in a gas station bathroom. If you’re lucky, your periods last 3 days. If you’re lucky you’ve never had clots that resemble mini-placentas. If you’re lucky, you’re clockwork and not guessing the day. If you’re lucky, you always have red wine on hand when your period turns into a raging lion.
If you’re lucky, you’re a man.
Because I can’t write a Period post with Period pictures. I don’t have it in me. I’m not in the mood.
Enjoy some Jeni’s. It helped for a little bit.