All boys, report to the gym

That's code, from my middle-school days, for "we're going to talk about periods." Eewww...

It's not very feminist or body-positive of me, but I totally hate my period. I hate PMS, I hate bloating, I hate cramping, I hate bleeding. I hate scrubbing underwear, jeans, and bedsheets. I hate cravings, I hate exhaustion, hate hate hate!

Deep breath... Okay, so, on to how this rant belongs in any way on a food blog. A bit of background first:

I started cooking for realsies last August, in response to being unemployed. Knowing we'd need to cut back on our spending, I decided I'd contribute as much domestic labor as possible. Holler Marxist feminists! Celebrate use value! And it freakin worked. We eat better than ever, and spend about half as much money. Farmers markets, sale bills, and coupons make fresh ingredients more affordable than processed meals. It was either that or go back to tuna fish and ramen noodles. Come on, man. We're in our 30's.

What I didn't expect were some of the health effects. Stupid, right? I mean, I figured we'd feel better, have more energy, maybe lose some weight. And all those things came true, to varying degree. Here's what surprised me. My period.

I used to endure half my life in hormone hell. I'd have a week of nasty, nasty PMS. Tight clothes? Check. Lack of energy? Check. Bitchiness? Speak-to-me-and-I'll-tear-your-lips-off. Then, in the next week, I could look forward to three solid days of debilitating pain. I swear I have two wrinkles on my forehead that are strictly from cramp-cringing. Oh, and heavy bleeding for another four days after that.

Last September, I had a super light, easy period. Only mild PMS, only one day of pain, and only three days of ugly underwear. Score! The next month(s), the same thing. It wasn't til December that I put it all together.

Say... I wonder if the eating better has solved some of my period problems. Duh Misty. Just... duh.

It's now come to the point that I barely even have PMS. Which, actually kind of sucks, because my period sneaks up on me. I guess I need to learn to look for smaller signs. Like, feeling weepy at the Cold Case rerun I was barely watching. As opposed to, chewing my husband's face off for folding a sweater the wrong way. His sweater.

I'm not saying all this to gloat. In fact, it feels more like self-justification. Know what else I hate? Well, lots of things, but snobbery's a big one. And now I'm becoming a food snob. But I can't turn back! A tenth of my life in hormonal hell is SO much less awful than half.

Oh and, I still hate my period. Hate hate hate. But I'm grateful to have a lot less to hate on.