Warning: I’m talking about my period.
Don’t worry. I’m not going into details about “the flow.” I promise. I’ll bet right about now you are thanking the god you believe in that this isn’t a photo blog.
Why would I even mention such a thing? WHY? Because this is the return of my fertility (shakes out thick, lustrous, still youthful hair with girlish glee). My last menstrual period (which goes by LMP when you look at your chart in the doctor’s office – and I assume they always have an exclamation point after your weight and that’s not just me. It’s like a “medical charting thing” probably) was August 1, 2008. I know this because I told that date to many doctors and nurses for the nine months (to the day) I was pregnant. Two years later, approximately, here I am again.
I’m thrilled that I didn’t have to wean Baby V in order to start ovulating again. Her pediatrician and my gynecologist assured me I would. My crunchy hippy friends on Facebook told me to trust my body. The latter is good advice. While it’s never done a passable impression of a bikini model, it’s never let me down before.
And it isn’t that I don’t want to wean my baby. She’s 15 months. I’d be FINE with it. As much as the convenience and the closeness and all of that happy crappy is true, I will tell you, I am so tired of feeling “sucked on” all the time. I told this to my husband and he told me that I am crazy. Sucked on all the time sounds pretty good to him.
Joking aside, it takes a lot out of you to nurse several times a day (pun not intended, but it stays). When V was an infant, I felt proud that I was nourishing my infant. At 4 months, she was so chubby, she was in the 93rd percentile for weight. All on breast milk. I glowed with accomplishment and my pediatrician told me “Good job, mom!” Now, nursing is a preference and a habit, not a necessity. Baby V eats plenty of food every day and drinks from a cup enthusiastically. “Nummies” are what she wants when she’s sad, scared, or sleepy. I can’t get her to fall asleep any other way. I haven’t weaned her because I can’t stand to hear her cry. Now that she can talk, she doesn’t just cry, she also says, “MOMMMMMYYYYYYY!” in the most pleading, heart-crunching tone imaginable while she grabs for my breasts and adds, “NUMMIES!” almost hysterically. Roll your eyes, childless people. I am genetically programmed to find my baby’s cries persuasive. When I finally give her my breast, she breathes this enormous sigh of relief and her whole body relaxes. Any thoughts of weaning go right out of my mind.
And all of this nursing has certainly kept my “mentalstration” (thanks, “Grease 2”) at bay for 15 months. The discussion of whether or not to completely destroy our lives by having another child next summer becomes moot, however, if I’m not fertile. So, hurray period!
I will just say, that the cashier at the grocery store today was very lucky she didn’t decide to crack wise about my purchase of Funyuns, Cheez-Its, peanut M & Ms, gummy bears, queso and chips followed by tampons.