My husband grew up in a family where his dad was a doctor and so when they discussed the body and it's functions it just was what it was. There wasn't any giggling (from what I'm told) and they didn't make up cutsie, fluffy words for anything, things were what they were and that was that. When I first started hanging out with the family there were some moments of complete shock when I'd hear medical words that I'd never said in my life and I'd look around to see who else had a red face, and it was just me. But as time progressed, I learned to not only accept it and not flinch every time a body part was named, but I also started to incorporate using actual medical names in my conversations as well. It's more accurate, it acknowledges the elephant in the room sooner which allows the elephant to leave sooner, and there's never any question about what I mean (there have been questions before when I'd use words like tinkle, winkie tinkie, and bottom).
Important Statement Regarding the Preface:
My husband's family (who really is my family, there's just no way to say "my family" without people thinking that I'm referring to my parents and their offspring) does not discuss body functions and body parts on a regular basis. It is not a frequent topic of conversation and they are very polite, proper, respectful, tactful, tasteful people. Just thought you should know.
Reason for The Preface:
I'm going to tell you all about my week, and there really is no other way to adequately describe my week without using words that make my brothers want to throw up. But due to my husband's family teaching me that sometimes you just gotta use the real word, I'm going to indeed, use real words. Brace yourselves.
Thoughts About The Preface:
If I would have just started talking and not prefaced my words with so much explanation, it probably wouldn't have even made my brothers flinch. Next time guys, next time.
The Part Where I Use The Real Words:
I only have 2-4 periods a year. Heavenly right? Except that means that I also only ovulate 2-4 times a year. And I NEVER know when it's going to come. The time before last time for me was in June, right smack dab in the middle of a family reunion-rather timely I'd say. And the last time was last week. There was a good 4 1/2 months between periods. That means 4 1/2 months of no bleeding, no cramps, no emotional catastrophes, no wishing I hadn't said that, and no week of torture. It really is quite nice for a lot of reasons. But there are a few reasons why it would be super nice to be super regular.
Reason #1. Regular Ovulation. I can only imagine the possibilities!
Reason #2. I'd know what and when to expect everything.
Reason #3. I could plan things like my wedding around my period. (Yep, of course after 6 months of runnin' high and dry I started my period the day before my wedding).
And The Biggest Reason:
Reason #4. All of the emotions, hormone discombobulation, and mental breakdowns that I missed during my dry spells wouldn't all join forces and give me 4 months of emotional basket-case in 5 days.
It's true, when I was regular, back in my younger, more fertile, pre-appendicitis days, my period weeks were worse emotionally than normal weeks, but they certainly weren't outrageous. Now, every time I have a random period, full-blown tragedy ensues and life is a catastrophe for me and anybody within reach or within a phone call's reach. I do my best to avoid people, for their own good, but usually my family is unavoidable and they get the brunt of it.
This week I may or may not have done any of the following things:
burst into tears during an ASU Women's Chorus Concert
cursed at my husband
revisited my 5-year old self and told my mom I was mad at her for going to my nephew's soccer game instead of coming to my concert
called my best friend to shoot the breeze, and heard her voice and started sobbing
cried and then gained composure at least 5 times within 30 seconds
And, as always, the list could go on. Anyway...last week was rough. But I'm alive to tell about it and though I still cried last night when the meatloaf caught on fire, I can see the end in sight.
The Point Of The World's Longest Blog Post:
1. Be grateful if you are regular. For so many reasons.
2. I'm drawing a blank...it turns out there may in fact, actually NOT be a point to this really long blog post. Crap.
In a few days, when my hormones have found their homes inside my body instead of spewing out my mouth and tear ducts, I will probably look back on this blurb and on the one before (ya know, when I said I was less happy for my friend who's having her second baby than my friend who's having her first) and be humiliated and mortified. But at least there will be a really large, long, over-done explanation of why.
Happy Tuesday everyone.
P.S. If you actually read this whole thing, you deserve a prize.