the worst day of my life

No, not today. Today has been great and full of wonderful conversation and yummy party food, although it has definitely presented more than enough challenges.

I hosted a baby shower for a dear friend today, someone who has gotten me through some very trying times-- the births of both of my children. So, of course, we discussed the topics most popular with a group of mothers: pregnancy, birth, and cervical mucus. I was reminded of being 13 and terrified of anything related to the reproductive system coming up in public conversation. The thought of being seen carrying a tampon or purchasing a box of maxi-pads was truly mortifying. And here I am at 31, surrounded by other women in the various stages of motherhood, discussing such fascinating subjects as ovulation, c-section scars, and how to choose the person best suited to photographing your baby's birth without fainting.

Which reminded me of what is possibly The Worst Day of My Life, which will cause me to lose many cool girl points and probably nauseate every man who's ever known me.

But what do I care? I'm happily married to a really hot guy who's already heard the story.

I was 13 and suffering my second menstrual cycle. It was terrifying, painful, embarrassing, and very, very messy. Like, Romero-film-messy. And I was a complete neophyte to the whole deal-- how to discretely Surf the Crimson Wave. And so, as I sat in my English class, reading Hound of the Baskervilles, I merely felt uncomfortable in many ways and did not fully understand what was occurring.

As I stood to pack up my backpack to leave, the (thankfully, female) teacher called me over and whispered, "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Boggled, I said, "Uh, no."

"I really think you need to go," she prodded.

So I headed off to the bathroom, very confused. And what did I find in the mirror? I had apparently sat in a chair in which a hog had recently been slaughtered. Front and back, my acid-washed cut-off jean shorts were soaked in bright red blood. No subtle spot, nothing that could be hidden by a casually tied jacket or flannel shirt. It was the apex of mortification for an already gawky and awkward girl.

Having no earthly idea how to handle this social catastrophe and already late to class, I speed-walked to the clinic, adjusting my backpack so that it would hang as low as possible over my butt, hoping the nurse would take pity and call my mom to pick me up and tell the rest of my teachers that I had scurvy or St. Vitus Dance or something.

But that would have been way, way too easy. That would not have been The Worst Day of My Life. Instead, the nurse gave me a hall pass to the gym changing room, where I was to change into my stinky gray gym shorts and continue to class with a note for my teacher explaining that I had suffered a "feminine issue".

Can words begin to describe the feeling of walking into homeroom in my gym shorts, 30 minutes late, with a note that made the teacher hug me apologetically and say, "Are you going to be okay? Did she give you some Motrin?" At that very moment, I was sure that every single kid in the room knew i'd had my period all over myself and was a disgusting and untouchable creature.

In reality, as an adult, I realize that perhaps 5 other girls had any earthly idea what was going on, and *they* were too mortified to mention it to anyone else. I spent the rest of the day in abject shame, praying for the final bell so that I could go home. In fact, that school day was so horrid that I have forgotten how horrid the bus was that day, which tells you something.

Geek stories like this one serve to remind me of the supreme awesomeness of adulthood. Humans seem obsessed with youth and childhood and innocence, but for me, it was this horrible labyrinth of missteps and ruined chances and social smackdowns. I am so much happier today than I ever was as a kid, and I am so thankful to have the self-confidence to stand around with a bunch of women discussing something like naked body casting.

And even the self-confidence and devil-may-care attitude to put a story like this up on my blog.

Now, I hope you'll all join me in wishing Emile a tranquil pregnancy, a smooth birth, and a sweet baby!