Finding comfort at the end of a sentence

Growing up, my family all went on a yearly vacation. My parents hated the beach, Disney World was too immature for them and a “European trip would be wasted on children”. Needless to say, for 3 kids that left our options somewhere between The National Mustard Museum in Wisconsin (yes, it’s real) and somewhere in Yemen. My father was in the insurance business and every year he went away for a convention and dragged us along with him, I still think Yemen might have been the better choice. When I was 12 years old, the convention of the year was in San Diego. Me, mom, dad and my 2 brothers on a plane for over 4 hours with no in-flight movie (“that’s a waste of good money”), no smartphones and no IPads…how we survived the ‘80s I have no idea. 

Entertainment consisted of sitting still, Mad Libs, or staring out the window praying it would open. I got a little adventurous and stealthily snuck off to ransack the tiny bathroom in the back of the plane. I know that does not sound like a lot of fun, but after an hour of Mad Libs you wanted to poke your own eyes out. If you’re a woman reading this…you know what I found. That’s right gals…the stash of free sanitary napkins. My Walkman was running out of batteries and I could only listen to so much Cindy Lauper anyway, so naturally I thought it would be fun to spend the next few hours of my flight wearing a big ass pad. Oh, I didn’t have my period yet, but all my friends got it and I was dying to feel “grown up”, because nothing screams “womanly” like riding the front half of a diaper cowgirl style.

That lasted a half hour, tops.

Yup, that’s all it took for me to run back to the bathroom (my mom must have thought I had diarrhea) to rip that shit out of my panties and made me a little more grateful that Aunt Flo hadn’t visited me yet. At the last minute I actually thought about just peeing with it in, just to see what happened. Thankfully I chickened out or else I might have ended up years later sitting in a bar on my 4^th glass of wine never getting up to use the ladies while thinking no one could tell I was wearing a pad that had swelled to 7 times its normal size.

Fast forward thirty something years and now it’s my daughter who keeps telling me how she can’t wait to get her period. As I’m about to roll my eyes at her I think back to that flight and how clueless I was too. “The only periods you should be worrying about now are at the ends of sentences, please go finish your homework”. Parenting…nailed it!.

Time went on and before we knew it Aunt Flo was knocking on my little girl’s door. She was so excited she was literally beaming, we immediately went out to the pharmacy, made a little purchase and came straight home. I think you know where this is going…9 minutes.  She lasted 9 minutes. “Nope, I’m not wearing this.” I told her my house wasn’t going to look like a crime scene and she had to wear it. She is way too young to wear a tampon (organic only – do you know how much chemical shit they spray on tampons and then you’re shoving it up your hoo-ha – oh boy that’s a whole other post), she can’t use a menstrual cup like me (read this post about the greatest period catcher EVER), and obviously your only other options is…nothing, there are NO other options, or so I thought.

Rather than continue a losing fight with this hormone-raging vampire snack I asked my friend Google to help me keep the peace and keep the laundry to a minimum. After a couple of very unfortunate internet searches (I can’t wait to see what starts showing up in my newsfeed) I found a potential answer…period underwear. Yup, don’t beat your head against the wall if you haven’t heard of it either. So far in talking to all my friends, (nothing spices up school pickup like a good menstrual conversation) only two of them had ever heard of it but neither one knew if they actually worked. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain by giving them a try, I figured in the age of cell phones, Wi-Fi and the Swiffer my daughter shouldn’t have to suffer through the equivalent of a small travel pillow jammed into her dainties once a month. 

When I hear period underwear I think of big tan granny panties with frayed elastics and a couple of unfortunate Rorschach stains in them. They’re not sexy, nobody wants to talk about them and they’re not made to be fun…they’re the Nicolas Cage of underwear.

Who knew that period underwear had become a huge industry? You’d be shocked but there’s a whole bunch of period underwear brands out there, ultimately I decided to try Thinx. I heard the founder, Miki Agrawal, on a podcast and thought she was a fucking bad ass. I love supporting companies that give back (check out my Tushy…if you dare), they promote ethical and sustainable manufacturing and they have an amazing website where I can take a quick quiz and know exactly what to buy. I’m not going to lie, I was skeptical, but much like watching Nicolas Cage in a dramatic role, I felt nothing. YUP! Nothing. They’re comfy, super cute, easy to wash (I rinse them in the sink, throw ‘em in the washing machine and stick them in the dryer for a few minutes before I let them air dry – they come out perfect). Thankfully, those big ass pads are a thing of the past for us and my daughter will never have to endure the feeling of half a roll of damp toilet paper crammed into her undies like I did. Isn’t it a mom’s dream to have their daughter live an easier life than what they had? When it comes to options for her period, dream achieved!

As a side note, you know how eco-friendly I am so I’m holding on to the last box of big ass pads for the next time my friend Allison comes over with a bottle (or three) of wine.  I think it’s super rude to have to excuse myself to dash off to the bathroom in the middle of a good story.