on womanhood

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I was surprised by a male voice on the bus this morning. For five minutes I heard only the chatter of gossiping ladies. And then one of them asked when England's first World Cup football match is, which resulted in a response from Token Male. Apparently it's Monday. This post is not about that though. This post is about the horror of being a lady. There is blood. So. Much. Blood. I sometimes think that my sole purpose in life is to bleed as I seem to be so good at it. If you're a little girl and you're reading this, I am here to tell you the truth ... there will be clots. Big, jellified clots. Some days will be a two super tampons, three sanitary pads at the same time kind of day. There will be the worry of being able to get to a loo before leakages occur and the terror of waking up in a pool of blood because Mr Period {it has to be a man, right?} thought it would be hilarious to suddenly get really heavy and show you what your bedroom might look like if you're ever stabbed to death in your sleep. Then the lack of iron hits you in the face, making you extra tired and weak. Your skin will go all skewy. Your boobs will feel heavy and painful, appeased only by the continuous wearing of your bra. The weirdest sensations in your pelvic area will require the hugs that can only be found in painkillers and hot water bottles. And this will be your life, thirteen times a year, for the next forty to fifty years. That's potentially about 520 weeks of your existence spent dealing with periods. That's ten years. TEN YEARS! A lot less if you have babies ... so have babies! But, don't panic. You may be one of the lucky ones; regular as clockwork, very light, no pain, a couple of days and it's over. What a doddle! How I envy those ladies. *sigh*