It's All Fun and Games Until You Forget Your Feminine Protection

My little life is often boring, but it is always busy.  When you are a mother to young children you never sit still.  You are always answering questions, refilling cups, wiping things, kissing things (hopefully not the same things), packing bags, unpacking bags, and forgetting what you really needed to do in the first place.

On a recent evening, my husband and I were playing a round of "let's barely graze lips as you come home so I can get the heck out of dodge."  Normally, this is an exciting whirlwind for me.  I run around fixing my hair and macaroni and cheese simultaneously, stepping into neglected heels and the dog's water bowl.  The light at the end of witching hour tunnel is often a fun time away with my friends.  I am happy to endure the pain for the resulting pleasure.

This time, however, I was off to my friend's grandmother's viewing.  And I was late.  Not that viewings have hard start times, but the last thing I wanted to do was show up at the end of the evening viewing.  More quick kisses and I was off, driving my husband's manual transmission like the wind, feeling carefree, despite the destination.

About halfway into the 30 minute drive I got a cramp.  Not in my leg from shifting, but in my lower abdomen, in my uterus to be exact.  Rewinding the movie in my mind, I replayed the scene where I had used the toilet with a toddler around my thigh.  Yup, I had forgotten.  Not my phone, or my wallet, but my tampon.  I had forgoten to put in a new one.       

Short of fishing for the string at 60 mph, I needed to make sure.  I tried a squeeze check.  Was it in there?  I couldn't tell.  I did a few more kegels and considered my options.  I definitely could not brave the viewing without protection.

I could ask my friend for a tampon when I arrived, but that certainly had to be a breech of etiquette.  Besides, my friend was super athletic and hadn't had her period in years, that jerk.  It also seemed unlikely that any of the other guests at a 90-year-old woman's viewing would be flush with feminine products.

So what did I do?  I called my mommy, of course.  My parents serendipitously lived minutes from the funeral home.  Mom told me she was indeed armed for such a battle thanks to my sister's visit and, of course, I should swing by.

As I busted through the familiar back door in search of my quick fix, Dad greeted me.  "They have bathrooms there, you know," he said.

I guess daddy still doesn't want to accept the fact that I get my period.  Apparently, even I am in denial sometimes.  And honestly, I don't blame him.  I am certainly not looking forward to when my girls get theirs.

Minutes later, mission accomplished and mishaps minimized, I made my way.

Being a mom (even when you are not with your kids) is an adventure.  Most of the time I am prepared.  Because, well, it's all fun and games until you forget your feminine protection.
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