So, this weekend was "that time of the month" for me. You know, it's bad enough that I have to endure the pain and suffering of a short menstral cycle (we're talking 25 days, ladies! I haven't done the math, but I know I'm getting screwed here!) but to have it on a three day weekend is just mean. I had big plans to take my kids swimming. That went out the window. I had big plans to do my Wii fit 2 or 3 times and maybe even get an elliptical workout in. No way. My uterus was working plenty hard for the rest of me, thank you very much. I much prefer to be at work. I'm already stuck somewhere I don't really want to be, doing something I don't really want to do. I may as well get the cramps and bleeding out of the way while I'm there, right? (I really do like my job, but I love being home with my family way more, so I'd rather not suffer when I get to be home.)

What really sucks about my period... I am done having kids. Why do I need to continue with this madness? I don't buy diapers anymore. I don't have bottles in the house. No more breast pads or nursing bras. The pregnancy undies are long gone. So why do I still have to subscribe to the squeeze-my-guts-out-make-me-crazy-painful-torture journal of unfriendly medicine? Huh? It's bad enough that carrying the kids for 9 months, birthing them and nursing was my job alone. Now that I don't even get the accomplishment of those feets, I still have to live with the possibility of reproductive ability. My spouse doesn't have to go through all this. His babies are all born. His chances for getting me (or any other woman, for that matter) pregnant is nill. (Believe me, I know this. I wanted the vasectomy to fail, but it's been holding strong for 4 years now. I'm done wishing for failure.)

The way I see it, the only purpose my period serves (aside from the money I shell out for products and pain relief) is that it reminds my husband that he, too, fears something!