WARNING: TABOO SUBJECT AHEAD. Obviously not taboo for me though. I mean, I did share this story with you. So anyway, this past weekend marked the return of my monthly friend . To be honest I thought this would have happened a long time ago. With Bosco it happened about 2 months postpartum. That’s quicker than you can say, “So how are my stitches healing?” I just figured that was Mother Nature’s way of making sure I knew, despite it being mentally out of the question, that my oven was ready for another loaf of bread, and I had better take precaution if I wanted to avoid any further baking. Thank you for the monthly reminder friend.
So post-birth of Bubba, I just expected the same thing to happen. Except this time, month after month passed, and I was living feminine product free. It was kind of nice, but after awhile this started to bother me. It’s not like I wanted to be pregnant again right then. I’m not crazy (hush now). But I wanted to feel like it was a possibility I could consider at some point on the far distant horizon. Like maybe when I come to terms with the stretch marks I now have on top of older stretch marks. Or when the words dilate and push don’t make me see stars. Yeah, maybe then.
March came ‘round and I was sure it was the month. I had all the signs, symptoms, and snarkiness needed. And then nothing. This is when I really started to freak out. Because what is the number one thing you suspect when you feel like the big P is coming and then it doesn’t? That’s right. The other big P, as in preg-a-nan-cy. Well I knew that I wasn’t, but that didn’t stop me from freaking out about it for a couple days.
Enter the month of May. By this time I hadn’t thought about it in awhile. I really should have known though. The moment I got teary while watching a clip on Sesame Street where a mother was teaching her son to ride his bike, I should have immediately known something was on its way. I should have had some inkling of what the dealio was when I told the Husband I needed In-N-Out at 11:30 PM. And when I turned my body a centimeter to the left or right and instantly felt crampy and grouchy, I should have known I needed to head straight to my old stash of Tampax. But no, the thought of . never crossed my mind. Not until I took a random bathroom break during dinner.
It had, after all, been well over a year since I had last experienced this passage into womanhood, not including birthing a child of course. But I guess the cliché metaphor of it’s like riding a bike applies here. And no joke, the words "It’s all coming back; it’s all coming back to me now" came to mind and I started humming the tune. I've been humming it for the past four days while I've been forced to remember how beastly this visitor can get. But I must say, welcome back friend. Welcome back.