Wednesday, January 8, 2014

The Husband on Menstruation

Warning....Graphic Language and Gross Descriptions....

Picture Courtesy of Red Wombat Studio

There.....warned you.

I didn't have my period for 9 months.  That tends to happen when you're pregnant.  It was great.  Then I popped out a kid, and bled like a sacrificial bull for six fucking weeks.  I'm breast feeding...which is considered a viable form of birth control.  You aren't supposed to get your period...or ovulate....while you're breastfeeding. If that is how it went for you.....fuck off.

 A month after I stopped bleeding all over the place from child birth, I got my fucking period.  My best friend, who had a baby 9 days before I did, still hasn't had a visit from Aunt Flo and our children are 8 months old.  I hate her.

I had a bilateral tubal ligation (tubes tied) the day after my son was born.  If that right there doesn't tell you how fantastic my pregnancy was.....

I had been on birth control my whole life.  Or at least I'd been forgetting to take my birth control my whole life anyway.  Regardless of the frequency of the stuff, I was doped up on artificial hormones more often than not for the last 15 years or so. 

Armed with my fancy new tubal ligation, I no longer need to take pills to keep from having any more darling little pooping, crying, snotting love muffins. first few periods after the boy was born were.....interesting.  Apparently those hormones were all that was keeping my uterus from hemorrhaging all over the place.  Like dying Niagara Falls red.  And I wasn't expecting it.  My cycle had always been pretty consistent.  So when I was changing feminine hygiene products every two hours, I was a little taken aback.  I didn't throw out the paper pillows they call pads at the hospital...thank god.

My husband has a dickhead's view of a woman's menstruation.  It is definitely brought on by Satan, and should be avoided at all costs.  Which is ironic, as he definitely gets his period more often than I do.

Earlier this week, I got my period overnight.  These are the events that followed:

My husband brought the baby in our bed around 7:00am, waking me up.
I had to pee.
I announced that I had to pee so that Husband was aware it was his job to keep the baby alive.
I went into the bathroom and discovered that I had made a bit of a mess.
I finished my business and stripped off my now stained pajamas and jumped in the shower.
My dear husband walked into the bathroom, holding the baby, just as I had stepped out of the shower and was drying off.
Husband:  "I thought you were just going to the bathroom?"
Me:  "I bled all over myself."
Husband:  "I got it on the bed."
Me:  "Oh, well if you knew.....ugh...never mind...I will take care of that in a minute."
Husband:  "Well hurry up, I have stuff to do."
Me:  "....................."
Me:  "Honey, what would you do if I got blood on you?"
Husband:  "Probably die."
Me: "And then immediately shower to wash it off of you."
Husband:  "No, I think I would burn my skin off instead."
Me: "Ok well....fuck off...I'll be out in a minute."

He means it.  He thinks it's battery acid and would kill him on contact.  If I didn't have better things to do I would chase him around the house with a used tampon.  I imagine it would sound a lot like Goofy falling off a cliff. 


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Shouldn't You Be Working by Bethany Davenport is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.