painting the town red

Tweet

I became a woman when I was exactly eleven and a half. One day I was collecting Care Bear stickers and the next I had blood in my knickers and an insatiable lust for boys. It's weird. It's a moment where you're on the cusp of adulthood, hormones darting chaotically around your body making you feel and want and desire, but you're also still a child with teddy bears on your bed and a need for cuddles from your mummy. You're not a child, nor an adult. You're just a flummoxed little girl who thought she was prepared, but wasn't. So the knickers went in the linen basket and the not yet a REAL woman waited for Mumsy to notice and give you those much needed cuddles. And why do I share this information with you? Because I've got a bloody massacre going on down there and I feel it's only fair to share. We never talk about this sort of stuff, yet without it we wouldnt exist. It's one of the most natural things women experience, but it's every bloody month, pun intentional. It's running to the loo every hour because you're worried you're leaking. It's the sadness which comes from thinking that maybe you were pregnant, but you're not. It's getting out of bed in the middle of the night because if you don't, you'll wake up in a puddle of yuck. It's sore boobies which desire the safety and protection of a bra, even at night. It's stuffing your face with comfort food. Honestly, the sooner I go through the menopause, the happier I'll be. Only a minimum of ten years to go, by my reckoning. One hundred and twenty-ish more months of clots and mess and the gushing flow of a seemingly never-ending stream. *sigh*