Look. I just read this post over at Firework in Stilettos and it got me thinking. Thinking about obnoxious people protesting outside Planned Parenthood when they could be devoting their time to volunteering at Big Brothers Big Sisters or something, if they really want to save the youth of tomorrow. Thinking about how annoying it is that everyone assumes your legs are always open if you take birth control. How people think that having your legs open all the time is really that bad…if you want to have sex and you’re being safe and responsible, by all means, open your legs up and go for it.
But mostly, strangely enough, it got me because of one line that Kat wrote:
The nurse hands me my pills and as per Planned Parenthood protocol, she places them into a small brown paper bag. They’re already in a protective plastic blister back, a blue plastic envelope and a foil wrapper, but they (like tampons, maxi pads and most things associated with the female reproductive system) have to be hidden.
And that, right there, caused an epiphany the likes of which I have never before experienced. I’m awkward about my period.
Sure, I’ve blogged about cramps before, and sure, I’ve mentioned it to guys (my ex-boyfriend used to visibly cringe whenever I said anything about my period, as if he would “catch” my heavy flow by simply hearing the word “cramp” or “period” or…time of the month, honestly). But why are we so private about something literally every woman experiences? It isn’t like an STI, where you maybe did something risky or irresponsible and got infected. My period happened when I was in 7th grade, and it happened to millions of women before and millions since.
Since you asked, the day I got my period sucked. It was Easter morning, and all of a sudden whazam! (that’s the new *I got my period* word) there it was.
You’ve probably heard this before — or maybe not, since apparently we just don’t talk about these things in polite society, Cappy — but girls wait and wait and wait to get their periods. We rush to the bathroom in the middle of math because we think it happened, but it didn’t, and we’re secretly dismayed. And then it’s real. It actually happens, right before you have to put your Easter dress on and sit through two hours of church, and you suddenly hate your period with the passion only a hormonal pre-teen can possess.
I had that.
I had to wear a pad, y’all. And it was not small…they call them maxi-pads for a reason. I basically wore a diaper to church. I was 12 years old and wearing a big ole diaper in the house of God, singing songs about how He Is Risen but the whole time I wanted Him To Smite Me so I could be Done-zo With Periods.
And now, my period is something that just happens. For a while, it was debilitating, and I couldn’t get out of bed half the time, so I’m on birth control. For my period, not that it’s any of your business. But in case you think it is, I’ll indulge you. It’s for my period. And I wear tampons now because let’s be real, I do not need diapers and I definitely don’t need a pillow in my undies.
Y’all can deal with my lady parts, and you will like it! Or at the very least, you can keep your complaints to yourselves. Wave your tampons in the air if you’re with me!