Bloody Mary

This essay isn't about a cocktail.

“My flow is so heavy this week,” I said to my husband as I scrubbed my beige pants in the hotel sink. “I’ve been walking around Regent Street with red stains on my butt. I could feel the blood trickling down my legs!”

“Maybe we should call you Bloody Mary,” my husband replied.

“Well Bloody Mary had to rush out of Hamleys to find a bathroom. We’ll have to go back to pick up a toy or else you-know-who will be disappointed.”

I was in London last month with my husband, on our first week-long trip since becoming parents seven years ago. To be clear, my husband was there on business and I was happily tagging along. But this was our first trip sans our child. It was a major event. We drank cheap wine on the plane and took “parents gone wild” selfies. What more could I ask for? A tomato juice cocktail? My period arrived soon after landing in the UK.

Menstruation influences our lives every single day. Whether we’re dealing with actual bleeding, ovulation, or premenstrual symptoms, menstruation is a constant, ever present thought uterus owners must deal with. It’s the warm cup of herbal tea we rest beneath our navel to ease the pain of cramps at the office. It’s the sudden urge to throw life as we know it out the window and become an antiques dealer. It’s the violent rolling back-and-forth, face down on an exercise ball in front of guests to relieve ovulation-induced bloating. 

Maybe this isn’t relatable. Maybe it’s just me… Maybe I’m weird. I don’t know. What I can say is this: as a uterus owner, I have no choice but to be obsessed with my menstrual cycle. It’s taken me all over the place, physically, mentally and emotionally. And it’s taken me years to understand it.

I remember the first time I had my period. It was in 1999. I was eleven years old. I was at a friend’s house and we were styling our hair with hair clips I’d bought at the Dollar Store. Mariah Carey’s Rainbow album was playing. We were twisting our hair into neat little rows with plastic butterflies à la Mandy Moore when I noticed faint cramps in my lower abdomen. I didn’t think much of them. When I returned home, I noticed a brownish glaze in my panties. I didn’t understand what it was at first, but when I wiped myself, I knew exactly what the reddish spots were. I had entered the next important phase of my life: not a girl, not yet a woman.

I’ve now been menstruating for over twenty years. Twenty years every single month, except for that one time I was pregnant. My cycle has evolved over the decades, and I’ve now reached a point where I’ve synched with the moon and know that increased stress before ovulation will lead to awful PMS and heavy, clot galore type of bleeding. 

The weeks leading up to my London trip had indeed been stressful. Hence the rushing out of toy stores.

Sometimes I think my cycle takes up too much space in my life. There are only a handful of days in the month where I feel energized, emotionally stable and carefree. I can wear jeans on those days. Those are the days I feel really good about myself and probably treat myself to a pair of platform sneakers because I feel a Spice Girls obsession creeping in. 

The rest of the month I’m either bloated, cramping or seriously considering going back on Zoloft. And it all starts with Day 1, the first day of my period. Time to sleep on my side again, or else I’ll stain my sheets. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing a SUPER MAX PLUS PLUS 2000 tampon on Day 2. I know I’ll have to change it every thirty minutes, tops. On Day 4 I’m over my period and stop wearing protection even though I’m still bleeding. Day 5 is when I’m truly free. On Day 14 my ovaries hurt so I’m usually on my sofa with a magic bag. I feel lonely on Day 17. I have my monthly identity crisis on Day 18. I always forget about this phase. This is when I spend hours looking at design accounts and decide to completely change my life, sell all my furniture, and knock down my kitchen walls. I usually snap out of it when I realize how much work that would be.

The way my husband butters his toast makes me mad on Day 19.

On Day 21, I don’t like my thighs.

I feel anxious over the next couple of days and I don’t know why. I also feel depressed.

On Day 25, I have spotting and worry it might be implantation bleeding. Please no. I don’t want to be pregnant.

My throat hurts on Day 26 and I suspect I’m coming down with something. Please no. I don’t want Covid.

On Day 27 and 28, my tonsils are swollen and I’m exhausted. I’m definitely sick.

And the next day… Never mind. I just started my period.