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NB: if detailed discussions of menstruation bother you, you may want to skip this post.
You may have heard of this band from Dublin and this song. But if you're a youngster you may have never seen the seminal vid. So, check it out.
Speaking of youngsters, and the above-mentioned blood, and my pun-y use of U2's classic song, I'm having a catatstrophic period. Which as a Mom, utterly sucks. As a wife, it ain't a lot of fun either. My husband calls the waste "Magic Trash," but that's the least of it. And at least he still takes it out. I do sometimes take pity and do it myself, tho, if the PMS hasn't knocked me completely for six or turned me into Medusa.
So, anyway, as I'm sure you already know, moms get absolutely no privacy . . . and moms of boys get even less. So, over the past 7 years I've tried to be creative with the gear and its applications at this time of the month. No, I've never told anyone that a tampon was candy because I knew how that would end up, but in an effort not to discuss things they were really not able to comprehend, I've worked overtime (in addition to my regular workload) not to expose them to the blood that comes out of my body fastly and furiously. And it's really, extremely difficult for so many reasons - complaints that not a single product available to help with your 'flow' actually works and the accidents and cleanup and the cramps that feel as if someone is slowly excavating your insides with a melon-baller and acne and moods and the 'wow, Mom's actually eating a chocolate bar today' nonsense and just knowing that it's something that they will never, ever understand.
And yet, they should. All men should really kinda try. But, then again they shoul also all try to change a diaper. Even if they're nobody's actual father. But, I digress. Women, I insist, are really not just crazy bitches. I mean, sometimes we are, but really if you had to deal with this amount of blood and inconvenience 12 times a year for, like, 30 years or so, it would make you just a little bit mental. But, it doesn't make us weaker - mentally or physically. Or dirty as some religions would have you believe. Or in any way. It actually makes us stronger, more resourceful and more creative. Seriously, today in the midst of a change-up, my one-month-shy-of-4-YO burst into the bathroom (he needed a new episode of 'Special Agent Oso' on the TiVo immediately) and not only scared the tuna salad out of me, but more importantly made me drop an about to be inserted tampon down the toilet. So, I had a lot of explaining and calming down to do. Of myself and him. And I hope he forgets about it, but I also hope he remembers. So he stays the heck out of the bathroom when I'm in there and so he has some sympathy for a future female other in his life who may go through the same exact thing. And says not a word when rushes to a ladies room and comes back with something tied around her waist.
I am www.asuburbanstateofmom.com