“Don’t forget to bring these to put in the toilets.”
Said my toddler as he shoved a handful of tampons in my face.
Maybe there’s a chapter in one of those parenting books that instructs you what to do with your inquisitive toddler when it’s just the two of you amidst a TJ Maxx raid and menstruation is about to ruin a perfectly good pair of underwear (that you finally managed to put on forward-facing and right-side-out) but that would’ve required me actually opening one.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting served as a coaster and those informative pamphlets from my OB might’ve been used to level a wonky end table. The day I found out I was pregnant I scanned a quick paragraph about hemorrhaging from ectopic pregnancies and decided that I prefer the element of surprise.
But seriously, the method I’ve adopted means commandeering the handicap stall and taking care of my lady business while Rinn plays this fun game where he pretends to unlock and open the door while emceeing my toilet business and making awkward comments about the difference between the male and female anatomy.
“How do you pee without a penis?”
“You’re sitting down, are you pooping?”
“I WAAAANNNNNAAAA SEEEE!”
What’s the alternative? Instruct him to wait outside the stall while I swap out plugs and hope that he doesn’t take this as an opportunity to try out a new family like he does every Summer at the public pool or chat up some stranger about The Lion Guard and show them his “tiger claws?” Seems like the fast track to an abduction and I don’t have near the skill set of Liam Neeson.
So I have a son who is acutely aware of the menstrual cycle and the tools necessary to surf the crimson wave; his future girlfriend will thank me when he doesn’t have a tantrum about grabbing her a box of Playtex Supers from CVS.
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