Typically I try to cater to both sexes when I write. Just because this is called the “Cool Mom Guide” doesn’t mean it’s strictly for the moms. It just means someone thinks I’m cool and I’m hoping if I say it enough, so will you. Today’s post is for the ladies. Guys, you’re welcome to read as always, but I’m just going to bitch about my uterus, so there’s not much for you here.
I hate my uterus. It’s been my worst frienemy since I was fourteen. I have endometriosis . For those of you unfamiliar with the condition, I attached the link to the Wikipedia explanation. The only way to confirm and diagnose endometriosis is by laparoscopy  or other types of surgery.
When I was thirteen, I got my period and figured it was my passage into womanhood. Didn’t ask for it, wasn’t thrilled about it. I’m quoted as saying, “But I don’t wanna be a lady!” the day I got it (in school wearing my blue and white tie dyed MC Hammer pants, no less).
Roughly a year after “Aunt Flo” decided to visit me monthly, she abruptly went away. While I was thrilled, I knew something was off. After it had been six months with nothing, I had people assuming I was pregnant. Thanks for that, people. I was fourteen (and a virgin).
After six months, it returned. This time I had it for nine months straight. Every single day was like day one. Cramps, bloating, misery. I had to take iron pills because I lost so much blood and I hated red meat, so I was always weak and throwing up.
This pattern continued throughout my teens. It got to where no one even talked about it anymore. Either I had it for months on end or it’d go away. Blah, blah, blah. Years passed, the cramps got worse. Finally, my doc decided to go in via laparoscopy to check me out.
The day I had my surgery I told him, “If you’re in there and you see anything, zap the shit out of me.” He insisted nothing would need to happen but I asked to sign some kind of waiver because I figured if he’s in there already and he sees something, I want it gone.
A few hours later I woke up, begging for drugs (I did that a lot as a teen), and the doctor told me it was “a good thing I signed the waiver” because there was so much endometriosis built up he got it just before it had gone into my tubes. Then he sat me down, handed me a bottle of Prozac, and told me I’d never have children.
Don’t feel sorry for me; he was obviously wrong or I’d not be holding the current title as Cool Mom. I just wanted to give you a wee bit o’ background on my uterus and why I hate it. Following that laser lap, I was put on some meds to induce menopause. I was eighteen. I’d sit around the table with all the fifty-year-old moms, complaining of hot flashes and night sweats. I had random stray hairs grow places I’ve only seen on my eighty-year-old grandmother.
Over the years, the periods came and went like before. I was on every medication, went through menopause twice, and one doc tried to give me a partial hysterectomy, but my mother about clawed his eyes out. When I married Ryan, I was on my second menopausal bout and was instructed not to consummate the relationship or I’d possibly get pregnant with a two-headed baby (even though I was infertile, go figure).
Six weeks after I got married, Ry and I got a little frisky and I said, “Once won’t hurt.” Four weeks later, I was at my GYN asking for fertility drugs, thinking I’d have to be on them a year to get pregnant. I hadn’t had my period in two years at this point, so when I was told I was pregnant, I about peed my pants.
My docs were floored that I could get pregnant in “one shot” when I hadn’t had a period in years. Ryan got a standing ovation at my office and was called “One shot McGee” for quite a while (mostly by me). Nine months later, I had a happy healthy baby boy and since I nursed him for a year, I didn’t have to see the evil Aunt Flo for two more years.
I had my period for maybe a year between children. Each month was like I was thirteen again, getting it for the first time. I’m so inexperienced at having it that I forget what it does to a woman. Exactly three years after I had my first child, I wanted the second. Again, Ry knocked me up on the first try. He’s a baby-making wizard. I’m convinced he could wink at me from across the room and impregnate me.
Time passed and Josh was born seven months ago. Since I’d had a breast reduction (more on that another time), my milk didn’t come in, so Josh hits the bottle for his feedings like a good little Irish boy. My body is starting to try to regulate itself, so I’ve had about three periods since his birth.
I hate my uterus. I think it’d fairly obvious I have my period now. Woke up with it. Woke up after a series of miserable nightmares where I was in fetal position clutching my belly as I was tortured by garden gnomes in my sleep. I feel fat, hungry, and I lack any compassion or adoration for anyone. I’ve never been so happy to take my toddler to school. I hate my uterus.
I’m so bitchy I don’t even feel like talking about this anymore. Stupid uterus. Where’s the Motrin …
I’d like to add, my three-year-old just got home from school and ran upstairs. He must’ve noticed my mood because he just asked (and I’m not making this up), “Mom? Do you need a tampon?”