Men, take control of your birth control.
The scale this morning is finally heading in the right direction (who else misses old school scales with the pointer and the numbers? The digitals report paunch to the nth degree, and you can’t adjust down or up to make yourself feel better or play a mean trick). Happily I’ve shaved off 3 of the 9 pounds that have plagued me and which I blame on 1) a healthy relationship with a man who has cash and good taste and 2) the BC, the birth control pill.
Oh, and 3) leggings and tunics.
The BC and I go way back, to my mid-20’s. Wasn’t regularly connecting bits then, but stabbing ladies days had got to the point of bent over cramps and anemia before my doctor suggested hormones to balance my cycles. I loved it. Twist of the daily dial, click to the fourth green pill in and one Thursday every month I flowed. By Sunday, she was gone – in and out lickity split, quick like a bunny. Sad the number of years spent inserting only tampons. But I would have been bad, really bad in bed back then. Had much to learn.
Stayed with the BC for years, until my early 40’s, at which time I chose to go au naturel. Given I have no history to rely on in the area of perimenopause or what’s coming when, I wanted to see what my body – my wonderous internal machine – would do on its own. The BC merely tricks your uterus into thinking you’re pregnant all the time. Take the BC well into your 80’s, ladies, and you too can maintain your youthful flow.
After nearly 2 decades on it I was surprised at how my body returned to clock work regularity, running every 26 days thank you very much. But impromptu and morning and in the back seat of the car sex is so much easier on than off. Tried the diaphragm (which I like a good deal, no hormones, no wackiness). Condoms are okay, but unwrapped is better. So after many tests and talks with my new gyno that oh yes, I’m a prime candidate for twins over 40, I went back on the BC. Opted for a lo-dose version and the first month or two seemed fine. No muss, really no fuss and the big finish we both like. Then came the moodiness, the puffiness. The moodiness that lead to the little blue cloud of unhappy that lead to skipping the gym that lead to puffiness and tighter jeans and 9 pounds more of me, mostly on my ass and some to my back, which is oh so sexy.
Stayed back on the BC three months and have been off for two. I feel like the guy now – cutely exscusing myself at just the right moment to jelly up and insert my flying disk, cleaning up after (a careful roll off the side of the mattress and jaunty skip to the toilet while he stays splayed out and glowing). I hate being the dude in sex.
Broached the idea of a vasectomy. I think he either chuckled or flinched.
If only there were a pill for men. Of course unless in a committed-strings-attached-thing, girls would you believe at all times he was protected? The old fling sent a text message a while back. “Did I tell you I had a vasectomy?” Really?
Me and my plump juicy ovaries. At least I’m a not growing a mustache yet.