Hooray for Flexi-wings

Is it too soon to start mentioning yukky stuff?  I’m so sorry, it’s just that the urge to complain whingily is upon me. I won’t be long. 

This is the 26th day of my period. Count ’em. 26. And I’d been spotting for a fortnight before that. It is, admittedly, the first period I have had since Harry’s birth in August. It is also my own particular brand of luck to be lugging two uteri about instead of the standard-issue one, so both of my good-sized-considering-they’re-a-duo pelvic darlings divest themselves enthusiastically of their carefully hoarded endometrium: together. The fact that they do not always manage to empty entirely in sync, means that I often snort disparagingly when I hear heavy periods discussed amongst other, less wombed-up women. I occasionally even condescend to comment: when you’re packing two of the things, then you may have an opinion, yes? And don’t get me started on the period pain; they must fight like cat & dog in there. No wonder Harry vacated early.

Given that I scorn Tampax Super-Plus as broadly insufficient to satisfy my requirements, (dear God, I’d hate to see the size of the things that could) my sole consolation is that sanitary pads are not the lumpen, inadequate things they were in 1987 when my tsunamis first started. According to my mother, nappies have undergone a similar apotheosis since the mid 1970s, when she was last a regular user. This came to light some months ago when she did not precisely cover herself in glory whilst in charge of Harry’s bottom requirements. After 6 hours of peeking anxiously inside Harry’s togs, she announced ominously that he needed more fluids. Lots more fluids. She’d had a good feel about, she told me, but the nappy was still dry. Upon being invited to hold a fresh nappy, and compare weights with what was now forming Harry’s ludicrously bulging codpiece, she giggled guiltily. Lets hear it for Leak-Guard™ Cores!  

  

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