Sunday Bloody Sunday
As I’ve mentioned, I am no good at having my period. I’m silly, I’m scatterbrained, I’m not really what you would call a “planner”. If I don’t even know the day of the week, how can I be expected to know what day of my cycle it is?
Each period, it’s like I’m eleven years old again and bleeding for the first time. Why don’t I ever have any idea that it’s coming? I mean, I’ve had it almost every month for approximately 26 years. THAT’S OVER 300 PERIODS! Still, it surprises me every time.
Yesterday, my daughter sent a text message from the girls’ bathroom at school. I knew it was an emergency, since she’s not allowed to text during class. She was panicked. She needed supplies. That’s right, I’ve raised one just like me.
My heart softened. My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (it’s Easter, I work with flowers, you figure it out) was suddenly less so, as I switched into mom mode.
“I need clean pants and tampons” she wrote.
“Would you rather just come home and forget about the whole day?” I typed back, totally sympathetic to the situation. How could I not be?
I abruptly left work and ran to the high school to rescue her from the nurse’s office. She was teary.
“I didn’t know it would be today” she sniffed and I died a little.
I told her I understood and shared the fact that I have ruined a countless number of panties, pants, and sheets in my day. I told her that she comes by it honestly. She seemed to feel better. You know, underneath the mortification.
I told her to mark her calendar and that, after 6 months or so, she’d have a pretty good idea what to expect. I didn’t add that I learned to map my period from a high school teacher who, hands tied by the state when it came to teaching contraception, unofficially gave us calendars and a hand out that detailed the rhythm method. Judging by the fact that I have two children and no good panties left, I’ve gotten away from it.
Like me, I don’t know that she will ever be the girl to get it together when it comes to ladytime. I just want her to know that she’ll be okay, even if she doesn’t. And warn her not to invest in fancy sheets.