Husband Material

Having your period in a house full of boys is kind of like farting in public. It requires a lot of deception, a lot of deflection, and the knowledge that sometimes you just have to own up to it.

My oldest child has intimate and detailed knowledge of female menstruation which was necessitated by my failure to flush in the middle of the night. I know...it's gross, but the bathroom is directly opposite the nursery, and we figured out very early in his life that the sound of a toilet flushing can wake a sleeping baby with explosive efficacy. The habit of not flushing during the night has persisted and one morning when he was about 6, the poor child stumbled into the bathroom for his morning poo, and rose to find a toilet bowl full of blood. The ear piercing shrieks reverberated through the house for a full fifteen minutes before I was able to convince him that he had not divested himself of all his "inside stuff". There is nothing more sobering than trying to explain the basics of menstruation to a shaking and traumatized 6 year old boy.

So, I diligently dispose of all period related detritus as discreetly as possible. I never make my husband stop for supplies, and I am conscious of the fact that my pre-pubescent son would suffer fatal mortification if he had to go anwhere near the feminine hygeine aisle. I try to keep my children out of the direct path of my mood swings, and instead save the brunt of them for my husband, who has learned to bear them with admirable equilibrium and gratifying sensitivity. I really try to make it a non-issue whenever possible.

But sometimes, it's not easy to pretend that my back isn't aching with an intensity which rivals that of laboring with a sunny side up fetus firmly ensconed in my pelvic inlet. Or that my guts aren't being wracked with agonizing cramps that seem impervious to all conventional methods of pain relief while the lamentable lack of narcotics in the house causes me to curse my stoicism when I had my gall bladder removed and declined to have my script refilled.

In other words...they know.

So, today, I had just emerged from the shower after lying abed most of the morning with a menstrual migraine, snuggled up to the heating pad in a way that would have made my husband a little envious. I had crawled out of bed just as the schoolbus was braking in front of the house, fixed my kids a snack, and then hit the shower in an attempt to humanize myself somewhat. As I stood there dripping, there was a tentative knock on the door and my oldest queried softly...."Mom?"

I was about snarl a reply, irked by being bothered in the shower, AGAIN, but he continued without waiting for a response.

"I brought you some fresh coffee. I put that special creamer in it too. Maybe that will make you feel better, huh?"

Yeah..that makes me feel better. A lot better.

"Thank you, honey, that was very thoughtful of you."

"You're welcome. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"SIGH...I was just thinking that you'll make a great husband someday."

He rolled his eyes at me disgustedly.

"Geez Mom, it's just a cup of coffee."

Sometimes, this kid can drive me to the brink of insanity. Sometimes, I want to scream at the mud, the noise, and the incessant bodily noises and bathroom humor. Sometimes, I wonder, if it's this bad now, what will 14 bring??

But sometimes...sometimes he brings me a cup of coffee that is so much more than a cup of coffee. And someday, he will bring a cup of comfort to someone else having her period. She better damn well appreciate it.