The Uninvited Guest to the Sleepover

Imagine being eleven years old, at a slumber party at your friend's house. Everyone is having a great time: movies, pizza, games, an epic video game show-down, and WAY too much soda pop! You awake after passing out in the wee hours and you feel a little funny in your middle. You survey the room to find sleepy tweens and teens everywhere on couches, chairs, and sleeping bags on the floor with popcorn like a thin layer of snow everywhere. You ease yourself up to your feet and carefully creep around your sleeping peers and make your way to the bathroom. 

Once you are in the bathroom and pull your pants down to sit on the toilet, you notice the blood. Your heart skips a beat or two and you suck in your breath. You feel a bit paralysed while sitting there. You come to your senses and understand that this is your period. Your first period. 

You were not prepared for this. You were prepared with snacks to share, funny stories, even possibly making out with someone at the party. You were not prepared for starting your period. Thankfully, you got to the bathroom before you soaked through your underwear onto your jeans. You clean yourself up with toilet paper as well as you can and then, while still sitting, you rummage around in the drawers across from the toilet to see if there are any supplies you can use. 

Of course, there is not anything proper, no pads or tampons or anything else promising. You spy the neatly folded, stark white, and clean washcloths stacked on the counter next to the sink in front of you. You grab one and fold it up, shoving it in place, and stand up to get your pants back on. As you pull up your blood spotted underwear, you decide to snatch another washcloth to fold and lay in your underwear, just in case. You figure white washcloths must be easy to replace and this is an emergency situation after all. Finally, put back together, you exhale in a sigh, turn the light off, and go out into the hallway. 

By this time, a few others are waking up and talking. You decide you need to get out of here in case your bleeding becomes a flood like your mother had said could happen. At the end of the hall you are greeted by your friend and host of the party. He announces that his mother is making pancakes and smoothies in the kitchen. You quickly smile, wrangle some courage, and let out the lie, "Oh, I wish I could stay, but my mum texted me saying she needs me to help with the twins." You topped it off with a convincing sigh and eyeroll. He says, "It's cool. I know how unruly your sisters can get! Come back over later on if you can."

You roll your sleeping bag up and strap it and your backpack onto your back while telling the rest of your friends that you have to leave on account of "the twins". Everybody knows "the twins". Everybody shows their understanding with sounds and looks of empathy. Usually, you are annoyed with your sisters for ruining your plans, but today you are grateful for their existence. You hop on your bicycle and head home.

You made it out. You avoided embarrassing yourself. Now imagine this story with you as a boy. Most of your friends at the slumber party are boys and maybe not everyone at the party knows you are transgender.

{This piece is the first in a two part guest post on trans, non-binary, and gender non-conforming people who menstruate. [“Queer Menstruation & Inclusiveness” – link to post] is the companion piece. This story was told to the author by a friend who recounted how he experienced his first menstrual cycle as a tween at a slumber party. Certain details have been changed to protect people's privacy.}

Michele James-Parham (they/them) is a genderqueer/non-binary trans, NBPOC, homebirth midwife, community herbalist, and sex & sexuality Education Teacher providing midwifery services and well person care to low-income, IBPOC, and queer, trans, & gender-diverse clients in Pittsburgh, PA. They live with their musician spouse, linguist teenager, and bee-loving toddler on the Northside in a lovely home over a hundred years old named The Phoenix.