My insides must be very pleased with themselves right now. Next to the kids, poop, and the kids’ poop- the most talked about subject here is my uterus. Not so much the contents OF it at any given time, but how it has wreaked havoc on my life and enjoys every moment.
We talk about my uterus so often that I feel as though we should give her a name, but what do you name something so sneaky, tricky, evil and conniving?
Look at my uterus and you turn to STONE! I think that’s about as close as we’re going to be able to get.
All this uterus talk, from periods to cramps to period poops and achy boobs and ovulation and ALL of the things our uterus can do to our bodies that I have written about here… mine heard it all.
I know, you’re thinking- how in the hell can a uterus HEAR the typing of keys?
DUH. It has ears. And not just ears that pick up you shit-talking it while you feel like your insides are being ripped from the top down and all you want to do is stuff your mouth with chocolate until both cheeks chipmunk out and you’re drooling brown- but it can hear the thoughts in your MIND as you say them to yourself even though you’re not saying it.
If you don’t believe me, allow me to recount a little tale of woe for you that you might enjoy… or perhaps it might scare you into bowing down to the power of the Uteri.
After the relentless teasing of my uterus and the ultimate magic of all uteri in the world, balking at them, goading them- mine took notice. I mean, it’s always been a biatch- with wonky cycles and a super random pregnancy out of thin air that I now like to call Parker. It wouldn’t even allow an app to track it, just so it could keep me on my toes.
I had come to accept that no matter how long I punched in my monthly reign of terror into this electronic thingamajig, or how many people swore to me that after a few months it would finally get the hang of what insanity was taking place in my lady parts- but it never did. Not once has the period app (aka pocket bloodhound) hit the bloody tampon on the head. After a few mild freak outs, I finally learned that I needed to give the stupid thing a buffer. One, two, three days- but hey! At least I had warning! At least I wouldn’t be walkin’ around in public with no back up plan when the flood gates opened up on me like I used to.
The worst thing to have to do is create a makeshift dam to stop the flood before you’re able to get home, or to a store, or guilt your husband with how you’re wearing your favorite underwear and they are about to be RUINED WITH PERIOD BLOOD!! Ok, that might horrify him.. but if it gets him to run into a store for you- it wins in my book. Whatever it takes.
ANYWAY- so this month comes meandering along. This month didn’t seem that abnormal- y’know, other than my earth getting pregnant, giving birth, getting a tampon shoved into it and then removed… my baby starting school and getting into a fight. Planning an shopping for a double birthday party that I left until the last minute to do ANYTHING for, and the annoying of people I had to do to get them to RSVP and then worrying about them not even showing up because we all know people will SAY they’re coming but won’t really come because they suck and want to see you suffer… or just want you to get fat because there will now be left over cupcakes (cupcakes that you slaved away over, mind you) and NO WAY are you letting those things go to waste because they were expensive and tedious and fucking delicious so they must be eaten… Oh, and the 4 cortisone injections into my back with my (almost) 3 year old watching whilst calling me a “boobie” – ’cause laughing with a long ass needle jammed into your back is TOTALLY a good idea.
Totally a normal month, not at ALL stressful in the slightest- and along comes the day where the handy dandy appy doodad thingamajig lights up red that red should be lighting me up if ya catch my drift and I think you do- and it didn’t.
No big thang, I have a buffer.
Wouldn’t you know it- the 3-day buffer passed on by as well. Ok, odd, but still not abnormal. Just think, all the stress! Stress can mess with a girl. Oh, and antibiotics! And prescription narcotics! My body is just confused. It’s ok, body, I understand. Take your time erupting.
I’m being honest when I tell you that I put the whole thing out of my mind, mostly because I had to be shit to do and couldn’t be bothered to give Medusa the Uterus the attention she was so craving (read: all of it)- and it’s not that I was being irresponsible or stupid or naive or ridiculous- but let’s be honest (and men, you’re about to feel sorry for my husband. You shouldn’t, but you will, because you have a penis and for some reason it can trump everything else when it comes to matters of the penis)- there had been no sex in the past month.
|talk about a dry spell|
GASP!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, I said it. None. I’m not some horrid bitch with my knees stapled shut- but when you take into account that I was basically in completely hysterics for 4 days until I was drugged completely out of my mind due to ear infection, then had needles jammed into my back and was in horrid amounts of pain once the ear pain was gone and I was afraid to make ANY sharp movements… yeah, that would make sex pretty hard unless you lay there like a corpse; and while I know SOME people are into that kind of thing, I don’t think my husband prefers the ‘dead’ type.
The next time I looked at my app, because I am forgetful and needed to be reminded- it lit up and when I counted, I was now 7 days “late”- whatever late is when you aren’t normal.
4 days, no big thing. 5 days, Ehhh ok, that’s pushing it. 7? Where the hell is my period?
I do what most women do when they think their period is late… well, women who do NOT want to be with child, that is- I did a little freak out in my mind. I wracked my brain thinking about any and every possible way my uterus could have tricked me into getting pregnant. She’s fucking SNEAKY y’all- again, I remind you- PARKER. So I never say NEVER when it comes to pregnancy these days ’cause it always bites me in the ass- but really… I couldn’t figure out a way NOT to say never. My sorry excuses for boobs didn’t even hurt. They always hurt. Period or pregnancy- they make me want to rip them off and donate them to the Goodwill (where they’d likely sit on the shelf for a year, ’cause no one wants teeny useless things).
I talk to a few friends, who of course all tell me to suck it up and piss on a stick and get it over with. To which I say NO!
There was just this giant part of me that had no interest in knowing either way, because I was in such a state of disbelief that it could even be possible that I’d be knocked on my ass AGAIN… and the last thing I wanted was another bitter pregnancy. PLUS the boys birthday party was in a few short days and I didn’t want this cloud hanging over it IF the test said yes…
I went around and around and around about it- and made myself sick to my stomach with stress- which I actually began to think was because MAYBE I was pregnant. Maybe Thomas’ corpsed me (which is what we call, in my circle of friends, when a dude waits until his lady is asleep to give her a poke)- and so I finally relented and decided I would test Sunday morning. The morning after the party. The boys could have their day, and I could have my answer AFTER they had their day.
Sounded like a good deal.
If you have kids, you know that birthday parties are PURE FUCKING HELL. Hell on earth. The best part about them is the end- so when the end came and the last guest left, I felt this GIANT feeling of relief wash over me. I felt all relieved and happy and warm..
Wait.. no.. That would be my period.
I am not kidding. The SECOND the last person left- Medusa the Uterus decided to unleash her wrath, TEN days late (a 49 day cycle, if you’re wondering), as a show of ultimate power and pure SPITE for my constant teasings, I am sure.
Dear M…ADONNA, the Uterus!
You super awesome Queen Diva!
I shall never speak ill of you again. Here, have some left over cupcake! Oh, no… my ass doesn’t mind at all. Neither do my thighs! Now… let’s talk about next month, hmm?
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