Courtesy of Lauren Gordon
My son is a clinger, and truthfully, the only poops I have taken alone in the past four years are the ones in which there are literal miles of distance between us. If I am home and have to go, I will undoubtedly have an audience.
This means that at least once a month, my son gets a front-row seat to my period.
I have polycystic ovarian syndrome, or PCOS, so my periods are not dainty. For at least a few days, my flow rages and puts me in the bathroom at least once an hour. This has allowed me to have an open conversation with him about what periods are, and I hope it makes him more empathetic as he grows older with people in his life who menstruate.
The first time he saw my period was by accident. I pulled down my pants, and lo and behold, my unreliable period showed up unexpectedly, which meant there was a mess to clean up.
His eyes got as big as saucers as he took in the blood, and he squealed, "Mommy OK?!"
I couldn't help but giggle. I promised him that I was OK, but mommy just needed an extra minute in the potty to clean herself up. Staring in abject horror, he assessed the situation.
"Mommy, do you got a bleedin' in your pants?" he asked innocently.
I paused. At the time he'd just hit 2 years old, and I hadn't expected to have the conversation about menstruation so soon. So I did what any mom does in those situations: I went with it.
"I do, buddy," I explained in an extra deliberately calm voice. "It's from my period."
Naturally, he asked, "what's a pyramid?" It took all the will I had in my body not to crack up at that adorable mix-up.
I explained to him that there are certain people who get a period about once a month, and it is my body's way of cleaning out what my "tummy" doesn't need. He watched me reach for a tampon, and I explained that this helped mommy not make a big mess. He looked at it and asked if it hurt. I told him honestly that it does sometimes but that it's something I'm used to and that I'm going to be OK.
He simply said "OK" and walked away.
I have had that conversation more than a dozen times with varying degrees of questions since that introduction to female anatomy. I've gotten everything from "why don't you have a penis?" to "does it come out of your butt?" and "will I get a period?"
While hilarious and slightly awkward, there is no harm in telling him the truth.
My son is going to be regularly surrounded by classmates, teachers, colleagues, and perhaps partners who experience menstruation. If I can normalize it now in a way his little mind can comprehend, when he flips to that page in his anatomy textbook years from now, he won't be so surprised. Perhaps he will even have empathy for those who are struggling with their monthly friend.
After all, doctors recently compared the pain of menstrual cramping to that of a heart attack.
It's my hope that if we parents can do the up-front work with our kids around normal bodily functions, perhaps we can erase the stigma that surrounds them.
That education could lead to a world where perhaps girls don't feel shame about their bodies and even lead to a society that doesn't charge women and people who menstruate exorbitant prices for basic needs.
Teaching children the reality of the female body in an age-appropriate way isn't a bad thing, and it is why I will continue to be honest with my son about bodies. I believe that the cycle (pun absolutely intended) of stigma can be broken by shedding light on the uncomfortable truths of the world, and that begins with being as honest as possible with my child.
