That title? That, right there? That's why I love Blair.
(It was a tie between that and DOES A FAT BABY FART? )
How excited was I to snag this guest post?
(Very excited, is what I'm getting at.)
And how glad are you that Blair has written this fantastic post for you this fine Monday?
(Pretty glad, since I appear to be having some sick love affair with parenthesis. Annoying.)
Blair is hilarious. I LURVE her blog. You read this post first, but then you take your sweet ass over to her blog and read all of her archives. I promise, you will not need Kotex, but you may want some Depends.
(She is funny, and you might pee in your pants, is what I'm getting at.)
This is awkward. I don't even know where to begin. Normally, in my own world of internets best known as The Heir to Blair, I begin with a tale, or a picture, or even a long drawn out "Y'ALL WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT S-DASH-DASH-DASH." But since I'm a guest of Jen's, I figure it best that I a) introduce myself & b) not drop profanity in the first paragraph. oh, & use a coaster for my sweet tea.
& since it is flu season & I don't shake hands for fear of smallporks, I shall introduce myself simply as "Blair." As previously stated, I normally run rampant in my own little world of cupcakes, baby puke, & discussions about my sex life, but a week ago, I opened an email from Jen. "Would you be interested in guest blogging?" it read. "DOES A FAT BABY FART?" I responded. (the answer is yes. just ask my kid) When I questioned her on topics, she gave me free reign.
BIG MISTAKE, JEN.
So I emailed her back. Because I had this topic I was itching to tap out, but I figured I should ask her permission before regaling her readers with tales of my bleeding vagina. Manners matter, people! & with her permission & the most incredibly dull, drawn-out introduction, I begin my guest blog:
Y'ALL WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT.
Disclaimer: I typically shy from writing about family members. Or friends. Or relationships. & definitely work. I am of the opinion that no good can come from blogging about those topics, but this is WAY TOO GOOD to be kept a secret. & I have my husband's permission.
I'M PREGNANT! A BABY IN MY UTE! It's awesome! I won't have a period for almost an entire year!! I saw this as a blissful opportunity to make the world a better place. To be the attention-whore I always wanted to be as people stared at my belly, showered me with gifts, & rained compliments upon my glowing, happily knocked-up self. (by the way, mission totally accomplished)
My mother-in-law saw my pregnancy as an opportunity to boost Kotex's market power. (mission also accomplished)
The first time she brought me a pack of pads back in March 2009, I was a wee bit dumbfounded, a little embarrassed, but silently accepted them. Maybe she found them in the back of her closet & is going through "the change?" Since I am not one to question the fruitfulness of another's womb, I stuffed them in the back of our own bathroom shelf in case of emergencies. Until her next visit, when she brought 5 packs of pads. & the next, when she brought 3 more economy packs, plus 2 packs of panty liners. "These are for after you have the baby," she finally warbled in explanation. Listen, lady - there is no need to hold stock in Kotex. MY VAG IS NOT GOING TO BLEED PROFUSELY FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR. "Oh, I know," she chirped. "But like I told your stepfather-in-law, you'll get your period again!" OH MY GOD. You're discussing my monthly cycle with a man my husband doesn't even share DNA with?! Stab me in the eye with a dull spoon. NOW.
So I contemplated saying something to her after we hit 500 pads, ran out of room in the guest bathroom, & I started piling maxi pads on Nate's work bench in the garage. It's not that I didn't appreciate the generosity. Or gesture. But honestly, there are certain boundaries that should not be crossed by mother-in-laws.
I happen to lump my bleeding vagina into that category, along with discussing how I lost my virginity & the cost of our mortgage payment.
But I just couldn't. I was weak! I was intimidated! Despite over-sharing my procreation methods on the interwebs, I was a prude! & in all honesty, watching her stagger into my casa with bags of Kotex was sending me into fits of giggles with every visit. I could not explain to this woman that with the exception of healing from the D&E after the miscarriage, I never used pads. That the moment I discovered that first wee bit of womanhood at the tender age of 12, I demanded that The Momma teach me to use tampons. I could not stare my mother-in-law in the face & tell her that what emerges from my vagina past Harrison was none of her business. & so I stayed silent, watching with hilarity as the pad count tick up over 700...800...850...
(thankfully, Walmart pretty much accepts any return, other than children & dead pet hamsters. I have spent many, many hours waiting in line for a pimple-decked 15-year-old sophomore to issue me a gift card in return for said feminine products.)
Last weekend, she sent the total over 1,000. & when she leaned over my son in a conspiratorial manner & whispered, "These are for Mommy" while winking & patting the pack of Kotex, Nate stood up. & doing what I could not do with quiet male dignity, explained that he has never, ever seen me purchase maxi pads. While I, ever mature & helpful, muffled my laughter into my sweater sleeve.
That, my friends, is the definition of a good man. One that can stand up for your vagina to his own mother. I married a good man.& to date, I have returned 1,028 maxi-pads to Walmart.