By Melanie Forstall of Melanie Forstall: Stories of Life, Love, and Mothering 

I recently read an article in which a mother threw a celebration honoring her daughter’s first period. I truly get it. It’s a transition for young women that should be celebrated, and as her mother, it’s my job to show my daughter the beauty that does exist within her menstrual cycle. While there were many, many years that my period served me well, played a vital role in my health, and supported two healthy pregnancies, after 30 years together, I’m making the decision to end it.

Now, before a group of anthropologists get their Patagonias in a bunch, hear me out. At 41 years old, I was very randomly diagnosed with thyroid cancer. It was during an annual exam with a new gynecologist – I had been on a six-month-long quest to find a new doctor to provide more personalized, hands-on care – and I had finally found her. Thankfully. Up until this point, not a single OBGyn had ever touched me above the shoulders, but she did and found a large mass hiding in my neck.

Since then, things have begun to unravel and become completely out of sync. I’m bleeding more often than not, and based on uterine biopsy results, my estrogen will not calm the fuck down. There could be several reasons to possibly explain these changes. Most obvious, I no longer own the gland that controls my heart rate, metabolism, body temperature, and a host of other systems. Instead, I take a synthetic version of thyroid hormone. Sure, so far, so-so good, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t waiting for the rest of my organs to figure it all out and stage a full-scale rebellion. I’m sure the invasive radiation treatment had its effects, too. I’m also sure the fact that I am knocking on the door of 43 years old may have something to do with it. No matter the reason, 30 years is plenty long enough, and I am counting down the days to formally bid Flo a final farewell.

Our periods do serve us very well, and I recognize the vital role it plays in our reproductive health. However, as I sit here today, that part of my life is very much over. I’m long past the days of planning for pregnancies. Now, since things are so out of sorts, and despite my best efforts, I think it’s time to end the misery. I have zero time for this shit in my life. I’m living in a constant state of premenstrual misery. With an average of two periods a month, every week is pretty much occupied with something period-related. I find zero delight when my favorite jeans feel they belong to my 9 year-old-daughter. I always focus on the positive, though, and tell myself I’m getting a warm denim and spandex hug.

Just consider the logistics that are necessary for managing a period. I can only surmise that pads are designed by men. I either use a thin liner and end up bleeding all over my panties because it’s too short, or I unwrap something large enough to be used as a parasail. I find myself either patching together liners, single file across the crotch of my underwear or walking around like a diaper-clad toddler. Therefore, bye, Felicia.

I may be almost 43 with two kids, a busy life and a host of craziness happening within my body, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to have sex with my husband. There is truly nothing more romantic than having my hubby nuzzle up to me and whisper a playful suggestion to meet him in the bedroom, only for me to snuggle back and respond, “You mean so I can change my tampon?” I laugh and he – well, he doesn’t laugh. There is nothing really funny about my period cock-blocking him for almost the entire month.

After much thought and discussion, it’s clearly time for me to permanently say sayonara to my cycle. While I am counting the days and so very much looking forward to a period-free life, I do think about how I will adjust to the changes. What will I do with all of my free time? I’m a pretty resourceful gal and am certain I will figure out a way to spend my time and the money I won’t be spending on individually wrapped flotation devices. Maybe I will have more sex and buy more shoes?

I will certainly look forward to the day when my daughter starts her own period and will celebrate her life’s milestone with all the pride and fanfare it deserves. I will be there along the way, helping her navigate her own path. I will answer questions and give her advice. I will listen. Of course, I’ll wait until she’s much older and able to fully appreciate my decision to end my crazy period in exchange for an improved quality of life. (An improved quality of life with more sex and shoes. )

This post was originally published on BLUNTmoms.

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About the Author

Melanie Forstall is a full-time mother, full-time wife, full-time teacher, and never-enough-time blogger at Melanie Forstall: Stories of Life, Love, and Mothering. She lives by two simple rules: 1) No t-shirts, and 2) No mini-skirts. Ever. Her work has been published by Scary Mommy, Red Tricycle, Parent.Co, and Sammiches & Psych Meds. She lives in Baton Rouge and makes herself laugh on Facebook and Instagram.