Today: A new experience (alternatively titled, "The colour red")

Today, I experienced something I’ve never experienced before.

I was sad when I got my period this morning.

All right, now let’s backtrack and understand why I was sad, which is really more of an explanation of my relationship to my menstrual cycle.

Life is cyclical. My period reminds me of this, every 28 days. It’s clockwork. I can count on waking up on the 28th day of my cycle and at 9:00 AM that morning, my period will come. (See, it totally is clockwork: I’ve got it pinned down to the freaking hour!)

My period also reminds me that I’m healthy. That my body is an amazing thing. Given that I spent a good portion of my teenage years with amenorrhea due to my ED, getting my period is a celebratory event. Around the age of 21, my body stayed the same tiny size (I was semi-starving it) but my breasts grew a cup size in a month. All on their own. I think it a semi-delayed puberty kicking in, and my body saying, “Fuck you, W. WE are going to be a woman, whether you’re ready or not.”

[Side note: My ED was never, ever at all about a fear of womanhood or any of that horseshit-I’m-afraid-of-growing-up. A true ED is NOT about any such fear!]

I started getting a period regularly at that time. It was nice.

Once I became sexually active at the ripe ol’ age of 22, getting my period was very nice. It reassured me that my birth control worked. I still wasn’t fully connected with my body, though.

In July of 2003, my period didn’t come when it was supposed to. Hm…I thought. B told me not to worry, there was no way I could be pregnant. After all, we were using more than one type of birth control.

A week went by: still no period. I was freaking out. I knew, I knew in my heart that I was pregnant. My breasts were changing, and my body changed very rapidly. Not one bit of this was a healthy change, either. I took a pregnancy test, and 5 minutes later, B and I were lying in bed, crying and holding each other. I, we, were pregnant.

Not only had we not planned on this pregnancy, but I knew that given certain medications I was taking at the time that I could not continue with the pregnancy at all. It was heartbreaking. I didn’t want to be pregnant. I didn’t want to have a child at that time. And I didn’t want to have an abortion.

Alas, I chose the best thing for my “child”, myself, B, and our relationship at that time. We had an abortion. You may notice that I’m using the first person plural and wonder why? Well, B was very active and involved. No, it wasn’t his body that metabolized mifepristone and it wasn’t his uterus that cramped. He wasn’t the one sitting on the toilet, bleeding, rocking back and forth, vomiting into a trash bag.

But he held my hand. He rubbed my shoulders. He put cool washcloths on my head. He made me take my temperature throughout my medical abortion to monitor for infection (I was in too much pain to remember.) He was there for me.

He was also there for the aftermath. I was relieved when the abortion was over, as was he. But then, all these hypothetical situations set in. And I started feeling guilty. I didn’t feel guilty because I had an abortion. I never did. I felt guilty because I wasn’t ready, physically or emotionally, to bring another life into this world.

But I digress. After my abortion, I was overjoyed to get my period. Every single time I got my period for a year, it was like a birthday. “Hooray, I’m not pregnant!” And if my period was so much as 12 hours late—panic would set in. I bought more pregnancy tests that first year post-abortion than I should have. But I’d rather know, right off the bat, and take care of it…whatever that entailed.

As I grew older, I read more about abortion and the history of it. I also read more about menstruation and the history of it. This is one thing that links almost all women together, over time, across cultures. It’s pretty damn cool. It’s a reminder “I can bring life into this world.”

Now we’re talking superpowers.

C was a planned pregnancy. I was thrilled when my period never showed up in April 2006. Scared, yes, but thrilled. After I gave birth to her, I was delighted—truly—that my period returned less than 6 weeks postpartum. I breastfed C for more than 2 years, but never experienced a lack of ovulation. I know a lot of women who are dismayed if and when their period comes back whilst their breastfeeding.

But I wasn’t one of them. Again, seeing that red on my underwear, on the pad—it was and is awesome.

I’m not pregnant.
I’m healthy.
I’m a fucking super goddess who can bring life into this world.

This past year I’ve really been paying attention to the moon. It’s amazing to me that I can tell when I’m going to get my period based on the phase of the moon. I feel so connected to all of life when I think about this connection. It’s mind-blowing to me. And I feel so connected to my ancestors. While the men were busy painting themselves blue to scare off Julius Caesar’s invasion of the (now) UK, my great-great…etc…grandmothers were also looking at the moon and able to predict their fertile times.

So. Fucking. Cool.

I’m sorry, I’m dropping the f-bomb quite a bit. But I only do, or I tend to only do, when I’m astounded, good or bad.

So this…this is fucking unbelievably cool to me.

I love my period.

Since I’ve started dating A, my period has been regular. Yeah, yeah, I use birth control. But still. I haven’t had any delays in my 9 AM friendly red flag in my pants. (Omg, did I really just type that?)

Until…this past week.

My period was due on Friday, November 27th. I had a migraine that day and was ill, so when my period didn’t arrive, I was concerned but not alarmed.

But it didn’t arrive on Saturday. Nor did the red flag wave on Sunday.

I started worrying that maybe I was pregnant.

After a meeting last night, I went home and finally tested.

The test was inconclusive. Two lines appeared, but the “pregnancy” line quickly disappeared. WTF?

A was aware that my period was late. He, too, has had an abortion in the same sense B had an abortion. He, too, does not take late periods lightly.

But when I told him that my period was late, his response was unbelievable.

“So, C might have a sibling sooner than we thought. That’s great!” And he hugged me. He reassured me that he loved me, that he wasn’t going to leave me. And that we could make it work—two children, one toddler and one newborn, with mom starting law school.

I have never been in the position before where my getting pregnant on accident meant that I had more than one option. I have never had that support and love and determinedness that we’ll make it work, no matter what.

And my god, it felt so good.

I told A about my inconclusive test result last and he looked at me. “So you’re pregnant.” He said with a big smile.

”Not so fast.” I said. “I’ll test tomorrow morning, but I don’t think I am.”

Before I could test this morning, my period came.

For the first time ever in my life, I felt sad. I was happy to see it—having a newborn in law school really isn’t a bright idea or even a feasible one. But I was also a little disappointed to see it. A part of me wanted to be pregnant. Given that I got pregnant on our first try with C, I didn’t know until today what it was like to be slightly disappointed and sad that your period came.

But today, I know.

I’m okay. I’m really okay. It feels good to acknowledge all of this. To write it out.

But mostly it feels good to be in such a solid, secure, loving, and supportive relationship where my being pregnant won’t be a “problem”.

And it also feels good to think that one day in the distant future, I will be pregnant again.

I hope to enjoy every moment of that pregnancy, because my pregnancy with C was never about her or me: our energies were focused on B as his illness manifested.

So there you go: a long version of why I like getting my period. A long version of my reproductive history and philosophy towards my own reproductive abilities. And a bit of my sadness that I’m waving a red flag today…

But just a bit.

LSAT on Saturday. I MUST focus on that.

If you’ve read this far, thank you.