We’ve been together for a long time now. When we first met, I was T-H-R-I-L-L-E-D. Having you meant something huge for me – it meant I was shedding my little girl identity. I finally understood what Aretha Franklin was singing about, you DID make me feel like a natural woman!
But our honeymoon phase quickly passed. The excitement dulled and shooting pains in my lower abdomen became more prominent.
Which leads me to ask one simple question.
Period, why do you hate me?
Are you upset with me for not being with child? Does Uterus call you drunk and crying every month about how empty she feels? Now is not the time, Period. I fell asleep in a bathtub the other day. I’m not at my optimum Mom level, you know?
It just feels like a personal attack and I’m upset that it has to come to this. I get it, Period. You’re a bold gal. You like your presence known. Choosing the color red is a major power move. I appreciate that you’re not afraid to shout, “HERE I AM, WORLD. AND ARI’S WHITE DENIM SHORTS!”
But why the pain? Can we re-work the deal on cramps? And the alternating constipation and diarrhea (seriously, pick a side). Collectively, you have made me cry more than men have. That’s saying something. I’ve known some real dickheads.
Period, I love you. I know you don’t think I do. And I get why, I’m always complaining about you. I’m cursing your name, saying things like, “I FUCKING HATE YOU, PERIOD.”
For the record, I don’t. If you didn’t show up, I’d be terrified. I’d run to my local CVS and buy 17 pregnancy tests. I WANT you to keep coming. Please don’t confuse my occasional whining with me wanting to break up.
It would just be super cool if you eased up. A little. Please?
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