Time-of-the-Month Musings

Have you ever tried explaining the feeling of cramping to a man? I continually use the image of testicles being squeezed in too-tight pants. Not pinching, mind you, just squeezing. The kind of tension that prevents you from standing straight, or leaning forward, or wanting to move in any direction, really. And while I shift in my mesh office chair to find a position to relieve some part of the pressure on my aching ovary, I am actively envisioning this death-grip on a metaphorical testicle (I've only got the one), so that I may mentally loosen said grip.

It's not working.

I could take pain medication, but that'd just flood my pad, and I don't have any back-up clothing should that go awry. Let it be known, however, that I do have etherial female vocalists from one of the Lord of the Rings' soundtracks to help convince me of my impending serenity, that blessed world without menstrual cramps.

Maybe chocolate would help. But I'm not usually hungry when I bleed (but afterwards, I'm dying for a steak). Maybe something I can nurse? I find a Bolthouse Farms Chocolate Protein Plus drink, a healthier alternative to the child-like chocolate milk. Perhaps a Chocolate Brownie Clif Bar to nibble on, should my hunger resurface.

NOM.

Nom nom nom.

Still crampy. I used to have a high pain threshold. What happened? Somewhere between 30 and 34, my body just decided it can't handle it any more. I shudder to think how that will reverberate into pregnancy and labor.

While putting together a presentation, which referred to the "pain scale", I found this little gem. It puts into stark focus the relative pain of child labor. Fun.

Time to deescalate. My current discomfort level is no more than a 10 on the above scale. But I still want to feel better, damnit.

Great, now my shoulders are sore, too. I'm thinking a summertime massage is in order. Though, summer technically doesn't start for another three days. Hmm.

I'm sensing beef will be necessary sooner than later. I text my husband, "So... I may have to renege on my proffer of Chipotle. My body may demand meat in mass by the end of today. Would Five Guys be out of the question?" Yes, I am often that pompous over text. He knows my need for beef, and will rarely refuse the craving, but he's quick to stifle any excessive desserts. 

And then I realize - I really do look pregnant. Look how bloated my midsection is! You don't really notice bloating when you're overweight until you are entirely inflated below the rib cage. Blech.

A bio-break, water, and a bit of walking helped, but now I'm thinking I'll have lunch so I can take medication without the other end of my innards grumbling at me. Healthy comfort food for lunch, along with an Injustice respite. My prego-like belly, coupled with my 10, has resulted in me moving about as if carrying progeny. But it's raining now, and that's comforting. The calming sounds of a downpour and accompanying thunderstorm sooth my agitated state.

Walking, I take the long way around, careful not to get wet, though the intermittent spray is refreshing. Warm rain, one of the few benefits of living in Texas.

Now I'm all alone in my office, and not a moment too soon; my lunch has made me gassy. Double cramps!

12.