Chug Chug Chug
Warning: If you've never lactated, had menstrual cramps, experienced or witnessed childbirth, or at a minimum pondered the overwhelming array of feminine products on a single aisle at Walgreens, this blog entry may not be for you.
I was 13 years old when I made my official entrance into womanhood. It happened on the morning of my cousin's wedding, for which I was to be a bridesmaid. That is to say, I was to stand there in front of everyone, with my back to the audience, which included men and boys and other people who would all be staring at ME. Nevermind the bride. I knew they would all be staring at me. They would all be focused on nothing other than my very own backside, which in my opinion at the time would be saddled with the largest and most noticeable Kotex pad ever to have graced the feminine hygiene section at the Buda Grocery and Feed Supply. They would all... KNOW.
If you're looking for a reason to love those Southern Baptists: short weddings. A Southern Baptist wedding lasts about 8 minutes, if no one takes the bait and answers the invitation to eternal salvation. And on that day, no one did so my paranoia was short-lived, praise God (unsaved souls be damned).
Most girls in my generation crossed over to the other side around the same age and we all have our stories. Whenever, however, wherever it happened, we remember it. Then (hopefully, many years later) we get pregnant and we can say goodbye to the monthly nuisance for months, even years, depending on how long we nurse our babies, when or if we get pregnant again, or just depending on our systems in general. For the most part, I was not obligated to host that unpleasant visitor for three years and five months. Three wonderful years and five wonderful months. Wonderful.
Things have been a’ stirring recently and really, I knew my return to womanhood in the less maternal sense was just around the corner. I could feel it. I mentioned it to some girlfriends even. It’s no surprise. Lena's been eating solid foods for months. She's nursing less and less. The timing is the bigger issue.
Mother Nature is consistent with me, if nothing else. She chose a special day to make her initial entrance in my life (my cousin's wedding) and she did so again when she reinserted herself. She reappeared on Alena Mae's first birthday.
Good God. Did it have to happen on her first birthday?
Um. I'm sorry. I'm going to have to send this back. I ordered mine with a side of subtle symbolism. Oh, you're out of subtlety? Completely zeroed out of symbolism? How about a little allegory? Can I get a metaphor? Simile? Does this have to be so blatant? I get it. I get it already. I don't have a baby any more. Must you be so blunt about the whole thing?
Lena's 1. Elias is 2, almost 3. I'm 34. Lena will be weaned soon. Eli is talking more and more. He no longer says "choo choo" for example. It's simply a "train." Meanwhile, my maternal train is departing lactation station and is fast approaching ordinary womanhood again. Plain old mundane womanhood, with all the bells and whistles: cramps, hormones, moodiness, the inconvenience of these monthly episodes and all the required toiletries, and a new (read different) and entirely unimproved set of milk-free boobies. Awesome.
Yes, yes, there are benefits. I am aware. I will no longer be slave to a baby’s nursing schedule. I will no longer have to watch what I eat. I can have a Margarita whenever I damn well please. I get my body back. Yadda yadda yadda. As soon as I lose my Baby Jones, I’m sure those things will all sound fabulous. I’ll let you know when I get there…
I was 13 years old when I made my official entrance into womanhood. It happened on the morning of my cousin's wedding, for which I was to be a bridesmaid. That is to say, I was to stand there in front of everyone, with my back to the audience, which included men and boys and other people who would all be staring at ME. Nevermind the bride. I knew they would all be staring at me. They would all be focused on nothing other than my very own backside, which in my opinion at the time would be saddled with the largest and most noticeable Kotex pad ever to have graced the feminine hygiene section at the Buda Grocery and Feed Supply. They would all... KNOW.
If you're looking for a reason to love those Southern Baptists: short weddings. A Southern Baptist wedding lasts about 8 minutes, if no one takes the bait and answers the invitation to eternal salvation. And on that day, no one did so my paranoia was short-lived, praise God (unsaved souls be damned).
Most girls in my generation crossed over to the other side around the same age and we all have our stories. Whenever, however, wherever it happened, we remember it. Then (hopefully, many years later) we get pregnant and we can say goodbye to the monthly nuisance for months, even years, depending on how long we nurse our babies, when or if we get pregnant again, or just depending on our systems in general. For the most part, I was not obligated to host that unpleasant visitor for three years and five months. Three wonderful years and five wonderful months. Wonderful.
Things have been a’ stirring recently and really, I knew my return to womanhood in the less maternal sense was just around the corner. I could feel it. I mentioned it to some girlfriends even. It’s no surprise. Lena's been eating solid foods for months. She's nursing less and less. The timing is the bigger issue.
Mother Nature is consistent with me, if nothing else. She chose a special day to make her initial entrance in my life (my cousin's wedding) and she did so again when she reinserted herself. She reappeared on Alena Mae's first birthday.
Good God. Did it have to happen on her first birthday?
Um. I'm sorry. I'm going to have to send this back. I ordered mine with a side of subtle symbolism. Oh, you're out of subtlety? Completely zeroed out of symbolism? How about a little allegory? Can I get a metaphor? Simile? Does this have to be so blatant? I get it. I get it already. I don't have a baby any more. Must you be so blunt about the whole thing?
Lena's 1. Elias is 2, almost 3. I'm 34. Lena will be weaned soon. Eli is talking more and more. He no longer says "choo choo" for example. It's simply a "train." Meanwhile, my maternal train is departing lactation station and is fast approaching ordinary womanhood again. Plain old mundane womanhood, with all the bells and whistles: cramps, hormones, moodiness, the inconvenience of these monthly episodes and all the required toiletries, and a new (read different) and entirely unimproved set of milk-free boobies. Awesome.
Yes, yes, there are benefits. I am aware. I will no longer be slave to a baby’s nursing schedule. I will no longer have to watch what I eat. I can have a Margarita whenever I damn well please. I get my body back. Yadda yadda yadda. As soon as I lose my Baby Jones, I’m sure those things will all sound fabulous. I’ll let you know when I get there…
Comments
Hilarious post!