April 14, 2011

And On The Second Day, Mother Nature Said "Let There Be Clots!"

There is something that they never told you in health classes growing up. Certainly, the classic "Girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis" talk garners chuckles from just about any co-ed group, regardless of age. I mean, come on. Our parts are hilarious. They look funny, smell very distinct, and have a tendency to make rude noises when we least appreciate it. So, I can understand why, at the ages of 10-17, the topic of how your body changes in your formative years is kept as clinical and narrowly focused as possible. But, I think in your late 20s, there should be a refresher course.

I know we've discussed my history with artificial birth control previously, and my utter lack of a menstrual cycle for most, if not all, of my 20s. Now that all of those chemicals have been flushed from my body, I'm back on Mother Nature's Christmas Card list. She likes to come visit every 28 days or so too. Just so we stay close. You know how you do with friends, you just touch base now and again. Only, in this case, I'd call her more of a Frienemy than anything. Thing is, she's . . . changed. She's not the way I remember her. And that's why I say I need to go back to school.

Come to find out, a woman's body changes over time. Who'd a thunk it? As a woman reaches both her sexual peak, and inches closer to The Change, her body starts behaving differently. Our arousal threshold changes. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. In my case, get me revved up enough and I'll walk around with a puddle in my shorts all day. But, if there are days when I'm under a heavy stress load, sex is the last thing on my mind.

Our cycles change; sometimes even from month to month. There are times when Mother Nature rides in on a dark horse and sends her troubadors; water retention, salt cravings, and pimples ahead of her. Other months, she sneaks in on cat's paws to tendely curl up with you and your lover in the pre-dawn hours to leave you to awaken in a crimson puddle of your own making. Certainly, a swift peek at the calender is often all a girl needs to know when to expect the Spanish Inquisition, so to speak. But, sometimes, the days just get away from you. Some days, she just shows up, bags under her arms, and her room isn't even picked up, and there are no guest towels in the bathroom. That woman is a bitch.

What's frustrating too is that her visits are so different! I mean, sometimes, she's very docile, preferring to eat dinner at the table, and read a book till she falls asleep for 4 or 5 nights. Other times, she throws wild parties and invites her friends "unexpected bleed through", "clots" and "terrible cramps" along. There have been times when those have lasted as long as Chuanuka. Talk about torture.

I'm of the opinion that, just like the "Congrats on Hitting Puberty! Enjoy the New Body Hair." class in Jr. High and High School, you should get a "Welcome to Peri-Menopause! Your Body is Gonna Act Even Stranger" with your first mamogram. You can have flatened, manhandled tits AND an education in how your body is going to fuck you, and not in the good way, all in one day. Heck, now that I've had the on the job training, I could be talked into teaching the damn thing. All I ask in payment is uteran ablasion. Seems like fair compensation to me.

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