All your donuts are belong to me                                                     {photo source}

It was in the days leading up to Christmas.

My thought train went like this;

Oh, my god, I feel like shit. I am so fat. Why, whyyyyy am I so huge? Is that a pimple? Oh, jesus, my face is ridiculous. I am an adult, damn it, a grown woman! What is with my skin? I am huge and my face needs degreasing. God obviously hates me. I need some hot chips with a gravy chaser. Were the kids always this annoying? God, the kids are annoying. I am sooooo bloated. When did I last go to the toilet? I haven’t been to the toilet for days! I need Metamucil. I am so backed up. I am full of shit. I am literally full of shit. Oh, god, what was that pain in my belly? I have cancer. I definitely have some kind of cancer. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Ughhh, my reflection. I need a donut. I am so gross and I want to crawl into a hole. With the donuts. Blahhhhhhh!

And on the fifth day, can you guess what happened?

It was something that hadn’t happened for 29 months, something that has only happened about 6 times since 2006.

Yes, I failed to read the age old signs because I have only had half a dozen periods in the last seven years. I was a classically premenstrual psycho and I had no idea.

I have not missed this shit.

I was at my cousin’s when it happened. She recommended an app to help me keep track. An app to tell me what was happening all up in my girl business. How modern! It was almost like getting my period for the first time again. I have so much to learn!

I checked in on my little period app a week or so later to discover that apparently I was in my fertile phase. And I admit, I felt a little twinge. When both the boys were Harlow’s age, I was falling pregnant again. It feels weird to be aware of my fertility and not try to utilise it. Not that I want another kid. Oh, no, no, no. Both Bren and I are in complete agreement about that. But where once the changing phases of my cycle were recorded with excitement, they are now little more than an inconvenience.

A bittersweet reminder of a ship that has sailed.  

For the last seven years, my fertility has been a thing to celebrate. Not no more. Now it is month after month of premenstrual psycho until menopause when apparently my vagina will turn to sand. 

Fun.  

Anyway, just thought you should know.