Yeah, yeah, I know you already know this, but let me tell you what that bitch did this month. Actually, let’s go as far back as March. When I went to my endocrinologist back in late January, I found out I was basically a man living in a woman’s body. I had high testosterone and low estrogen, and some really, quite colorful symptoms to go along with all that. Luckily the super manly stuff stopped at extra hair growth in places women really shouldn’t have hair – like my neck. I’m just thankful I hadn’t grown a pair of balls before we figured the problem out.
I’m correcting the issues through major nutritional changes, but he also put me on a hormone patch to alleviate some of the horrendously uncontrollable symptoms like experiencing my own personal summer, night sweats, ravenous chocolate and sugar cravings, and genital acne. Ignore that last part. I’m now officially that middle aged woman who has to take calcium on the regular and stroll around the beach in her bikini attempting to hide the HRT patch residue. It’s OK, because I’m feeling significantly better and I no longer want to consume an entire half gallon of chocolate ice cream every night, so there’s that.
Another of my favorite benefits has been that Aunt Flo only shows up like once every 5-6 weeks now, so I am not walking around like a living version of the elevator from The Shining every month. It was a little frightening at first because I was constantly terrified I was pregnant which is the last thing in the world I want to be. I’d rather sleep in a steaming pile of elephant poop every night for the rest of my life than be pregnant again, so it was a little anxiety-inducing for a while, but now that we’ve got everything figured out, I’m really happy with my new cycle.
Aunt Flo is set to make her visit sometime in the next three weeks, around the same time I would be wrapping up a weekend hanging out in Destin with some of my favorite girls on our annual “Brandcation”.
Welp, apparently Aunt Flo had other ideas about her visit this month, because as luck would have it, she knocked on my cervix last night and showed up today with a vengeance. You’re probably thinking, “So freaking what? You’re back on a regular no-anxiety 28ish day schedule like the rest of the women in the world, get over it.” And basically, you’d be right. Except for the fact that Kyle and I are leaving on Wednesday for our first getaway as a couple without kids since the two days we spent in Charleston, SC when I was 8 months pregnant with Grady. Grady is now four and a half years old.
We have dinner planned every night we are gone, walking around Raleigh and Durham, perhaps some lounging around the pool at our five star hotel on Thursday? And we are definitely going to a wedding wherein I am wearing a white tulle skirt. And sex. We had planned on having lots and lots of sex.
I realize that’s cool for some couples, and it used to be par for the course with us too, but I really don’t feel like being touched when I’m leaking blood like I’ve lost a limb anymore. We’ve been married too long for that. We’re at the point in our marriage where we realize it’s not going anywhere, so we’re not desperate for it 24 hours a day, every day of the year.
Come to think of it, I might be speaking for myself there.
I refuse to let it ruin our trip, but things certainly aren’t going to be as fun and carefree as they would have been prior to her arrival, and because she likes to visit me for a full 8-9 days, she will finally be making her exit when we return home. If only she knew how to babysit, I’d leave her home to watch the kids.
Aunt Flo, you’re a heinous bitch and I hate you.