TMI Thursday. Period.

After the last few days of roller coaster emotions, embarrassing admissions of vulnerability, and a predilection for coffee house style acoustic music instead of the audio book of Ape House by Sara Gruen while I drive, I might have had a clue.

Sudden and physical needs for wine, chocolate and beer are clear indications.

After I cried at Jen's blog post, there should have been no question.

As if the now monthly eruption on my left cheek isn't enough of a harbinger.

It was as I stood in the kitchen eating Nestle Quik straight from the container that I knew for sure.

And boy do I miss my IUD.

Do I want it back?  No.  I mean, sex without a condom was so so nice, but now that I am finally losing weight, really losing weight, as in have lost three clothing sizes, I'm convinced that the hormones in my old Mirena were partially to blame for my extra tonnage and inability to lose it.

But dang, did I get used to not having a period.  It was like menopause without the hot flashes and other unpleasant (to put it mildly? I'm still in denial) side effects.

So now I'm back to thinking in terms of twenty-eight days.  Even before my IUD days, I didn't have to keep track.  My little round pill pack did it for me.  When it was time for the green pills, I knew to assess the situation:  Were there enough stickers and harpoons?  Did I have a private stash of chocolate so I didn't end up eating Nestle Quik and choking on the powder like I did yesterday when Sophie came into the kitchen and yelled "Mama!" when she saw me at the counter, spoon midair, the yellow container with the rabbit on it open in front of me.

"What are you doing?"  Who is she, my mother?

"We're out of chocolate."  I sputtered.

"So you're eating the Nestle Quik?"

I nodded, coughing on the powder that was now lodged in the back of my throat.

She came over and peered into the open container.  "Did you double dip?"

I shook my head.  I wanted to say, Listen you.  I'd have some chocolate if you guys didn't eat it all.  But instead I sheepishly put the lid back on the container and dropped my spoon into the dishwasher.

"Why do you need chocolate anyway?"  At nearly twelve, she's got a pretty good clue, but sometimes she's afraid to admit how much she knows.  Or, more accurately, she uses the Q & A format to confirm what she she thinks she knows.

"I think I'm about to start my period."  I put the Quik on the shelf in the pantry and stood looking at her.

"Oh."

"Any more questions?"  This was as good a time as any for me to play the role of attentive mother.

"Have you been crying?"  She took a step closer to me.

"Maybe."  I'd read Jen's post about John Lennon and just lost it.

"So when you're about to start your period, you cry and you crave chocolate?"  Okay, so yes, she's information gathering.  This is natural and good.

"I don't always cry, but now it seems I get kind of kooky and emotional.  And zitty.  And bloaty.  But I always craved chocolate.  I mean, when I'm PMSing, it's worse, but I am definitely experiencing PMS things I didn't before."  Too much information?  Did she flinch?  Was she looking for a quick exit now?

"Before when?"

"Well, when I was a teenager.  I didn't get pimples or cramps and I didn't cry or act all mean and crabby.  Not that I remember at least.  But now, since I've had my IUD out, this is different.  It may be because my body is aging and my reproductive system is getting ready to shut down."

She stood blinking at me.  Okay, I'd said too much.  "Does that mean that you and Daddy will stop having sex?"

"That's a bit personal, don't you think?"

She shrugged.  "Yeah."

"Well, if you must know, the answer is no.  I like Daddy like that so deal with it.  The only good thing about starting my period is the fact that I know that I'm not pregnant.  It's really a waste of time.  It's not like I'm going to have more babies."

"I see."

"This is pretty awkward, isn't it?" I said, glancing back into the pantry.

"Maybe.  You know what's awkward?  Reaching into Daddy's top drawer where you hide the chocolate and seeing the box of condoms."

"That's called snooping and I see the box of condoms hasn't deterred you from looking for chocolate.  I hoped it would."

"I have my priorities."

"You are so bad.  You'd better hope that I never pry into your private life like you do mine because I am saving up some really embarrassing questions."  I paused and we smiled at each other.  I continued, "Are we done here?  I have some reading to do."

"Yeah.  You know there's a thing of Hershey's syrup in there.  You don't even need a spoon for that," she said walking past me.

"So I see," I said reaching into the cabinet, flipping open the top of the dark plastic bottle and tipping my head back.

What's your "comfort" for food?  Cravings?  What euphemisms do you use for items of a personal nature?  If you're a guy in a relationship with a woman of childbearing age, how do you cope?  Have you learned to keep a private stash of chocolate or tranquilizer darts?