The Shark Week Double Tap ~ I know you are scratching your head asking yourself, what the hell is she talking about. Well, I will get to that but first I need to warn you this is definitely a TMI post. If you are a man, or squeamish about personal woman talk,
walk no run away now. First, if you are a regular reader of The TRUTH about Motherhood you are already very familiar with the term Shark Week. If not here is a post to teach you everything you ever wanted to know about Shark Week. This brings us to my latest shark week debacle.
So, it is once again shark week. When isn’t it shark week? It seems like every time I turn around these days, it’s shark week. In fact, I’m tempted to get pregnant JUST to stop the craziness that is the moody spectacular of Shark Week. And I think I’ve made the Big Guy just crazy enough to agree to it. Desperate times, desperate measures my friends. But I promised you a definition of the Shark Week double tap. Embarrassing as it is to admit, a promise is a promise plus I’m really curious to know that I am not the only one who has suffered this humiliation.
The shark week double tap, my friend ( you are my friends right? I’m banking on it and praying for your understanding and no judgement. After all, the situation itself is humiliating enough), is when you are so deep in the throes of Mommy brain, you’re sick as a dog with a wicked sinus infection ( you can’t smell, you can’t taste and you can’t hear), the kids are screaming, dinner is burning, it’s black Friday, your have people visiting and aside from your whole world being upside down and inside out…you are hemorrhaging at just the thought of walking across the room. This is when the shark week double tap happens. You are unsuspecting and unaware and it just sneaks up on you. You are so tired, overwhelmed and confused that you go to change your tampon and when you should have pulled you completely missed the step and only pushed…another tampon into the already crowded space where the last one is. Gasp!
The kids are screaming at the bathroom door, your husband is waiting in the car for you to head out to pick up dinner to replace what you just burnt and your mother is talking at you through the bathroom door; this is when the deed is done. You won’t even be aware of it for a bit.Who knows maybe that first little guy got all turned around and you lost the string and that’s why you completely forgot to pull the cord before you launched another cotton rocket into your vaginal infinity and beyond. I know you are wondering how the hell is this even possible. What can I say, I’ve given birth a couple times and I’m pretty sure a small hobo could find shelter in my vaginal cavity, my cervical wonderland and I might not even notice I’m so busy on some days.
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I know I am not alone in this but doubt any of you will have the bad taste to admit it but you can identify yourself by being the one who is laughing just a little harder than the others at my predicament. Thank God this faux pas is not fatal, unless you count the double dose of toxic shock syndrome inducing cotton levels in my body. Sure it’s uncomfortable and a great reminder that I should have just taken the time to locate my damn Diva cup ( that bitch isn’t moving once it’s locked and loaded) rather than give in to the convenience of the tony toxic cotton rockets. The worst part is that I usually ( yes, it’s happened to me more than once) don’t realize what has happened until I am out in public, away from a toilet and walking like I’m in my third trimester and about to give birth to a pair of cotton topped twins at any moment.The humiliation. What’s the worst side effect of your shark week? Don’t be afraid to share, misery enjoys company and I know shark week is no picnic for any of us.