The Standing O

Disclaimer: I'm going to be talking about my period in this post. There could also be talk of vaginas. I will mention fallopian tubes at least once. There will be some blood and a few vivid details that I feel help tell the story. I will not include photos.

If you are queasy, not interested in the inner workings of a woman's biology, easily weirded out, eating a big mouthful of liver, are male and feel you need not know these things or are just minding your own business, trying to find a recipe for a good roast chicken and walked into more than you could handle, then, come back tomorrow when the sanity has returned.

The rest of you nuts read on.

Most of you already know that the prodigal daughter, better known as my period, has finally returned and we are, as of this month, in full baby-making mode for numero tres.

My husband is going to be awash in the sex, people. An angel gets his wings.

So, I have my period now and I've been ducking into the bathroom to change when necessary and do my womanly things, when my ducking and bobbing and weaving caught the attention of Lucy, who wondered out loud what I was doing hovering over the toilet, bent-legged with my fingers probing my fallopian tubes.

Okay, she didn't actually say "fallopian tubes" because she's three and she wouldn't do that, but when she walked in, I was trying to find the string and of course, it was lost and probably twisted around my liver and I was sort of straddling the toilet and bent over so that my head was nearly between my knees and I was muttering stuff, because apparently I felt that talking to the string would coax it out and so I was like in this contorted, bent-over position, talking to my vagina in a not so nice way and my fingers were jammed so far up there, it must have seemed like my vagina had swallowed them and Lucy was looking at me as if her mother was going to have to be admitted to the kooky asylum. Yet again.

And so, a full and honest disclosure was clearly in order.

So, I embarked on "the period story". To a 3 year old. Which is, like, 5 years before I thought we'd be doing this stuff and I was unprepared to say the least, not to mention that I still couldn't find the string, so I was having to tell her the period story while thinking that I might have to go to the emergency room to have the tampon removed by a professional, which clearly I am not since thanks to Edie's near constant breastfeeding, I missed two years of them and am now pretty darn rusty. Obviously.

And Lucy was mesmerized. A team of My Little Ponies, with pink flowing manes and bridles made of billowing satin streamers, pulling a wagon full of jelly beans couldn't have dragged her away. This was freakin' big.

And then, Edie wondered what she was missing out on and wandered in from the other room and joined her sister and they stood next to each other, arm to arm, staring up at me quietly as if they were in a sacred prayer circle and I was the pants-around-her-ankles mystic who had important life prophesies to share with them and so, still hovering over the toilet and trying to discreetly locate the still-missing string, I told them everything.

I told them how I was bleeding, but it wasn't a boo-boo exactly, but my body was getting ready to make a baby and they asked me if it hurt and I told them no and they came closer to get a better look and wanted to know what I was doing with my hands, because they were, like, missing.

So, I told them I was trying to get the old tampon out so I could put a new one in and I explained about how tampons were like band aids and Lucy wondered if I could get "Hello Kitty" tampons because that would be more fun and then, they each wanted their own new tampon, which was a little like I was giving out $10 bills, it made them so happy and I said no about the "Hello Kitty" band aids but mentioned how fun I thought that would be and all this tampon talk made them more curious and they came in a little closer, without even the tiniest hint of self-consciousness, which I think is beautiful, and also, a little weird 'cause I'm not used to doing close-ups with an audience.

But after wrestling the string like a big anaconda that didn't want to come out of it's dark hole, I succeeded and it was like I was David Copperfield, because making the tampon appear out of my body made them cheer. They gave me a standing O.

Hey, people. It doesn't matter that my first O was for changing a tampon. It was still an O. Do not mock the O.

And then, they peered into the toilet bowl as if it were a magic lake. And looked up at me expectantly, waiting for my big finish. I did not disappoint. It was all bonfires, fireworks and sparklers. I rock.

After the show, when I was sitting normally and not all bent over at the knees and with my pants on, Lucy reminded me that I should give her advance warning the next time I needed to go to the bathroom, so she could drop everything and be there. For the last two days, I haven't actually gone to the bathroom without an attentive audience.

Overnight, I am a performance artist. With a following.

Which is, ya know, weird but not entirely unappealing either. I'll take it as I can get it.

A food post next time. I promise.

xxoo YM