This is definitely a TMI post. If you are a man, run away now. I’m seriously tempted to get pregnant JUST to stop the craziness that is the moody spectacular of what I’ve come to call Shark Week. I think I’ve driven my husband just crazy enough to agree to it. Desperate times, desperate measures my friends.
The Shark Week Double Tap is when you are so deep in the throes of Mommy brain, you’re sick with a wicked sinus infection, the kids are screaming, dinner is burning, it’s Black Friday, you have people visiting, and aside from your whole world being upside down and inside out… you are hemorrhaging at just the thought of walking across the room.
You are so exhausted, overwhelmed and confused that you go to change your tampon and when you should have pulled you accidentally pushed another one in–to infinity and beyond.
The kids are screaming, your husband is waiting in the car for you to head out to pick up dinner to replace what you just burnt and your mother is talking at you through the bathroom door; this is when it happens. You won’t even be aware of it for a few minutes.
Who knows, maybe that first little guy got turned around and you lost the string and that’s why you completely forgot to pull the cord before you launched another cotton rocket into the outer space of your pelvis. At this point you may be wondering, how the hell is this even possible? What can I say, I’ve given birth a couple times and I’m pretty sure a small hobo could find shelter in my vagina and I might not even notice because I’m just so busy.
Thank God this faux pas is not fatal–unless you count the double dose of toxic shock syndrome. It’s uncomfortable, and a great reminder that I should have just taken the time to locate my damn Diva cup (that bitch isn’t moving once it’s locked and loaded), but the worst part is that I usually (um, it’s happened more than once) don’t realize what has happened until I am out in public, away from a toilet and walking like I’m in my third trimester and about to give birth to a pair of cotton-topped twins at any moment.
What’s the worst side effect of your, er, “Shark Week”? Don’t be afraid to share, misery enjoys company.