The beach and I are synced up like high school girls apparently because everytime I go, I have my period.
The IUD has already caused enough interesting issues with that time of the month (said "ISSSSUUUUSEZ" like the British for full effect), but the sea water and sand well they just add to the overall discomfort that's almost as bad as the post-birth giant pad in mesh underpants.
Actually, I was probably walking like that after two hours of sitting in the sand.
All this wouldn't be so bad if I was lounging happily on a shaded chair with a cold alcoholic beverage in my hand, finishing up a book I've had on my reading list since 2003 while no water or sand actually touched any part of my body except by feet but certainly not the deepest crevice (Said CREVASSE) that you forgot existed except every year when you're reminded by your OB-GYN.
But there are four children, with sand in all of their bits and pieces, doing their best effort to either get swept away by the ocean tide or get lost on a beach full of children wearing the exact same bathing suit that we all found at Target for $10.99 last week.
So there is no drinking. No relaxation. No enjoying the very weird crowd of people in front of me with half-braided heads and not-real neck tattoos on their karaoke machine and microphone singing really bad country songs. ON THE BEACH.
Check 1, Check 1, 2. Check check.
Nope, it's just me and my boring bottle of water (ugh, hydration, seriously?), standing on a beach in a bathing suit full of sand with a half burned body because I was only able to lotion half of myself before I lost half of my kids with a gigantic now completely watersoaked super tampon stuck halfway inside me.
It's EXACTLY as sexy as it sounds.
But hey, SIDE BONUS! My inner thighs are now perfectly exfoliated. And I have an amazing tan.
On the right side of my body.