let the story begin in 2015

Today, I went to a gynecologist for an annual exam. Which is a really nice way of saying peeing in a cup and getting fondled and penetrated by stuff. My period was just ending, so I was apologetic and they all laughed at me. (I knooow they’ve seen worse than my spotting.)

I am in perfect health and am textbook regular without external assistance, so it was pretty quick, in and out. The speculum wasn’t too bad, just sort of pinchy. The “internal exam” was a finger shoved up so fast that I barely realized it until she began palpating. Which was weird. Aaron has taken great giggly delight in these stories.

I got a prescription for birth control, because ovulating on my wedding weekend is kind of a terrifying proposition. Except the pharmacy filled it as brand name, so it was $300 instead of $40, and I’ll have to run by the clinic after work tomorrow afternoon and get that rectified.

And then go get our marriage license. No joke. The application is in and paid for. Tomorrow afternoon, we pick it up. Holy shit.

We keep staring at each other like we’ve never before made eye contact and also like we can’t look away. “We’re getting married.” The countdown is on. 9 days. We’re getting married.

Next Saturday.

But that’s not what I wanted to write about. Tonight, I want to write an ode to my period.

*

Dear menstrual cycle,

I love you.

No, really. I know no one likes you. But I love you.

Sure, we had some rough times when we were first getting to know each other, but over the last 15 years, we’ve got it all sorted out. You come like clockwork–aside from the occasional stress, illness, or new workout regimen, I can point to a calendar and name exactly when you happen. I can count the hours until I’ll need a higher grade tampon (but only light and regular, because you’re so mild!). If you cramp, a few Advil make it better. You last 2-3 days from start to finish! You are textbook perfect. Even Aaron can predict you and ovulation! Which is also perfectly observable through textbook levels and types of discharge!

I CAN EVEN TELL WHEN YOU’RE DOUBLE-OVULATING. Which is terrifying, because twins, but you are that easy!

I don’t even really PMS. I might get a few zits on my shoulders and bloat up a little, but I don’t cry or have crazy mood swings or any of the really ugly symptoms. Sometimes you are so subtle, you take me by surprise and stain a pair of panties. You big silly.

So this is my ode to you, menstrual cycle. You have treated me so well that my friends hate us.

Please don’t hate me for throwing some artificial and bossy hormones into the mix. I love you. I’m just not ready for your ultimate perfection yet.

Love,
the brain.