Have you heard the one about the box of disappearing tampons? Can you explain it to me?
*TMI alert! Tampons
My girls do everything with me. With the Big Guy out of town, the attachment parenting has been taken to an entirely different level. I want boundaries. I want to wax my lip in private. I want to change a freaking tampon without having to make it seem like a magic trick where no one sees anything.Oohhh, its an illusion. My littlest once caught a glimpse of something and gasped and almost fainted because apparently she thought I had cut myself and was bleeding out.I went with it. Yes, Mommy has a booboo. I’m OK, I just have to use one of my special Mommy band aids. So, the girls KNOW that those are Mommy’s special band aids.
Imagine my surprise when I went to find one of my “special” band aids and NONE were to be found. I was getting flashbacks of the missing toothpaste incident. Oh wait, I know..look in the garbage. Remember where I found the girl’s missing hair? There they were… an entire boxes worth of applicators. APPLICATORS!!! Where were the cotton balls attached to string? Nowhere to be found that is where. What was going through their mind when they did this? Are they anti Tampon? Pro Diva Cup? Trying desperately to save me from a gnarly case of Toxic Shock Syndrome?
Tampons and Treatises
I interrogated those two littles for almost 2 hours. There was a lot of ” I didn’t do it”s, “Ask her”s and “I don’t know Mommy” followed by tears, hyperventilating and finger pointing. But still NO FREAKING COTTON. Those kids are unbreakable! They should bypass kindergarten and go straight to the CIA. Let’s be honest, I’m not married to David Blaine or David Copperfied and I sure as hell don’t think that Tampax can evaporate. So, as I sit there bewildered with my Diva Cup in hand wondering where the hell all the cotton in my house has gone to, I go for the last ditch effort to get myself an answer.
“Tell me where the cotton balls are Abbi?”
Abbi,”The Ones with the strings”
“yes!”
“Uhhm, Me no know!”
“Tell me or I’m taking away your tv for a week”
“Mommy, how long is a week?”
“7 days!”
“One, two, three, ….seven. Me can do that!” and with that she skipped off into the sunset.
I just hope the next person who comes to my house for a showing doesn’t open a closet or drawer and get attacked by an army of zombie Tampax tampons wondering the world aimlessly searching for their applicator counterparts.
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