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Dear friends, please come to my Period Party- or not.

I couldn’t believe when Emma told me that there are things called Period Parties. So I Googled it, and yes- there are Period Parties.

WTF?

I guess they’re called Menarche Parties. Menarche is the first period of a girl according to ancient Greece- or Wikipedia, whatever.

First there were potty parties for potty training, now there’s period parties. Oy vey. Why not? The Jewish throw parties for the foreskin and women throw parties for their boob jobs too. You can throw a party for anything really, and lately parents have been doing just this. (But let’s not okay?)

I’m not the only one to blog about this, I know. But my readers are a little bit like me, and if you’ve been living under a rock, you’re going to want to know what to do for your daughter that crosses that threshold to womanhood.

Here’s my advice- don’t waste your money on Tampon Basketball as a game if you’re going to throw one of these parties. This was a game suggested on one of the parenting websites for fun activities to do during a Period Party. Another item of advice they included, “probably don’t invite boys- this could be embarrassing.”  Well, no shit, Sherlock.

Back to Tampon Basketball- I’m sorry, but Tampax doesn’t come cheap and providing several boxes for half a dozen 12 and 13 year olds to toss in a can or bucket and see who gets the most in, isn’t my idea of how I want to spend my money.

I won’t be ordering a red velvet cake either with frosting inscribed to read, ‘Happy Menarche Emma” (Menarche- pronounced like Malarkey)

Hmm, what else? I won’t be sending out invitations to her intimate group of girl friends. Honestly, they are nice girls, but how am I going to be guaranteed that they won’t laugh in my daughter’s face when Emma hands them the red embossed envelope that reads, “From Girlhood, to Womanhood, Come to My Period Party.”

We won’t spend the afternoon making crafts with red paint and sequins, or drinking raspberry leaf tea with fancy tampon tea bags. Edward Cullen anyone?

If people want to throw these crimson tide parties for their daughter- yay. Good for you. If your daughter WANTS this.

Mine however, does not. She doesn’t want to macrame tampon strings. She won’t play pin the ovaries on the fallopian tubes.

What I will be doing for her instead-

  • Bringing her some ibuprofen
  • Heating up the rice pack in the microwave
  • Buying her favorite Ben & Jerry’s
  • Letting her watch countless episodes of Glee or Castle
  • Making sure she has plenty of black leggings and dark jeans to wear (this is probably the most important lesson of all!)
  • Having a proper supply of the appropriate hygiene items
  • A bottle of wine for myself

 

What you should be doing for your daughter with or without a Menarche party-

Letting  her feel comfortable to come to you with any question regarding her privates.

Help her to feel that menses, despite it being a bitch (I’m sorry, I refuse to celebrate what a fucking pain it is), it’s something all of us females have to go through and there’s no shame in it.

It’s a mother fucker, but it’s part of life and there’s no shame, no shame at all.

Happy period sweetie.

 

 

 

The four phases of a woman’s ‘cycle’

 

 

 

 

 

My fear is that this isn’t just PMS- it’s my personality.

 

If I were a cover girl

I love magazines. I have several; Instyle, Redbook, O, Marie Claire… Yeah. But honestly, I just don’t live up to the stuff inside the pages.

If I were to be Editor in Chief of a magazine, I think it would look more like my mock-up here.

Are you there Judy Blume? It’s me, Rebecca.

Do you remember Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume? I read it in 3rd grade. Which seems a little young now that I think about it. It’s about this girl, Margaret who can’t wait to get her period. Every girl in school read it. Judy Blume always knows exactly how to capture adolescence and all the poignancy of the years up to adulthood. She’s like the John Hughes of authors. She’s a genius.

Well, I would like to rewrite that book if I could. It would be called- “Dear Eve, You Fucked Up and Periods Are A Bitch”.

God cursed us for Eve’s mistake and gave us labor pains and the monthlies. That’s what Judy Blume should have written about.

I know why we wanted to be Margaret in that book. We wanted to grow up. Every girl dreams of when they’re a grown woman. We put on mommy’s lipstick, her high heels, pretended to be secretaries or something with our purses and ‘checkbooks’ in them when we are 4 years old. I loved it when my mom would give me an old book of checks or a spare check register from the bank.  I felt so grown up! Or maybe she would give me her old library card or something that I could pretend was a credit card. That was like Christmas!

After my visit to the doctor last week, ( Sometimes It Sucks Being a Woman…)  to this week’s ultrasound that my doctor had me do, I felt like this whole ‘time of the month’ business is bullshit. No news here, I know.

No wonder they call it ‘the curse’, ‘being on the rag’. ‘Aunt Flo’ is putting it nicely for gosh sakes!

There’s a blogger, The Bearded Iris, who wrote- If Pollyanna Had a Period. If that doesn’t just crack me up!

Please no more commercials about making us happy about our periods. It’s as bad as Charmin commercials with bears telling us to ‘enjoy the go’.

So thank you ladies and gentlemen for enduring my post on periods. My husband is rolling his eyes and wondering when his next business trip might be so he can get the hell out of the house.

And by the way- the plumbing checked out clean on the ultrasound. The good news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that I need to worry about. The bad news- no tumors or polyps in my hoo hoo that weigh five pounds and can be removed for any instant weight loss. I was certain that the extra poof in my pooch was something horrible that needed to be removed surgically. Alas, I just need to do more Pilates.

Also, this means that solving my problems will go down in the books as ‘hormone therapy’. This is translation for, ‘we have no idea what the fuck is making you miserable, so try a combination of motrin and exercise and call us next month.’

Be sure to pay the parking attendant on your way out.

This is exactly the book cover I remember from 1982.

No the fuck I won't, thank you very much!