Well, let’s see. I caught up on some laundry and took the kids to the park and, oh yeah, this:
I hung out on the Jezebel home page Friday night and all of Saturday and it was awesome. And when I mean “I hung out,” I’m not just talking about my blog post. There were over 84,000 pageviews on that post last time I checked, but at least 75,000 of them were just me. Don’t worry, after the 11,713th time I stopped actually re-reading the post. I just wanted to see if it was still there because HOLY SHIT, RIGHT?
I was on cloud nine all day Saturday, cleaning out the fridge all the while rehearsing a fantasy Daily Show interview in my head. “Well, you see, Jon,” I said and reached way back to pull out the deep rectangular container, the one with the ice on top, “My period wasn’t always such an voluminous event.” I paused to hold my breath and pull open the lid. Fuzzy blue-green balls in an indeterminate soupy liquid shimmered under the pendant lights. “Still though,” I continued, flinging what I assumed was a low-grade biohazard into a flimsy plastic bag hanging from a cabinet, “I’ve never been especially good at containing the mess.” I cranked the hot water and tossed the empty container into the kitchen sink before reaching for the plastic bag of vegetable matter that was so beyond decomposition that the new life forms growing on it were well on their evolutionary way to taking over my household. “Let me tell you about the time I ran out of money on a three day bus ride out of San Francisco.”
I was a superstar on Saturday and no amount of vile and disgusting household drudgery was going to get me down.
Right, so by Sunday I was curled up in a ball and rocking back and forth in some corner of the basement. Because how the hell do you follow up a post of such epic proportions? All of sudden there were all these new eyes on my blog and all these expectations. And all I did all weekend was clean out my fridge and sneak out of four-year-old’s birthday party! I had nothing.
So let’s pretend this bullshit meta post about how I don’t know what story to tell doesn’t count. We’ll just skip the big expectation post and then it will be business as usual. Maybe I’ll try to make a pot roast or bake some freaking gingerbread later this week. That’ll be good for a laugh.
Just one last thing about the period post before I move on. A lot of people want to know why I didn’t use the diaper. It’s a good point and one I briefly considered. The answer is trifold. One, I was wearing jeggings and still clinging to some blood-stained shred of dignity. Two, I was also clinging to the hope that I might be able to procure an actual tampon fairly quickly. But mostly, duh, remember Mary’s birth story? I’ve already used that bit.
We basically swung into action then. I shoved a size-four Huggies diaper into my pants and called the midwife who said labour was likely to begin in a couple hours and that we didn’t need to forget about the possibility of a home birth just because we hadn’t gone shopping for supplies.