I have tried to change my attitude toward my period. Really I have. I have listened to podcasts and read articles on learning to understand each phase of your cycle better and how to manage the less than enjoyable symptoms by avoiding caffeine, eating better and drinking lots of water.
At the end of the day though, periods are a pain in the backside (and the front side and everywhere else)
I got my first period when I was around 12 years old. I was so excited about it. It felt pretty special and several of my friends had already had their first periods and I so desperately wanted to part of that world. Stupid. Looking back, 12 seems ridiculously young to be dealing with something so grown up. I know it’s actually a fairly typical age though and some girls are unlucky enough to have their first period at an even younger age.
I was always fairly regular. Text book 28 day cycle with my period lasting around five days. Occasionally I had some cramps but nothing some ibuprofen or naprogesic couldn’t fix.
This regular cycle made it easy for me to fall pregnancy with both babies, as it was pretty well clockwork and I knew the stages of my cycle well, so always knew when I was ovulating.
Then, after my periods came back when baby number two weaned herself, my cycle changed and it hasn’t changed back. Now I am lucky (sarcasm) to have my period every 21 days and each period lasts more like seven days. So, if you do the math, that is a full week of bleeding usually preceded by a week of tender breasts, mood swings and generally feeling like shit. I get one good week a month basically.
I do not embrace my period. Each “month” when it arrives I curse it. I hate using tampons but I’m not ready to try the cup yet. In an ideal world I would stay in bed for a week and have various food and beverages brought to me on request, but I have to work and raise my children and keep the house running, so sue me if I feel a little resentful of Aunt Flo.
I am torn because I really want my daughters to have a positive experience with their periods but in all honesty, I can visualise a house in which once a month, three foul, miserable women (it is inevitable we will sync up) will cuddle up together on the couch or in bed watching Netflix and eating junk food while my husband tries and inevitably fails to make us feel better.
I have to admit, I am a little excited to have company. Misery loves it after all.