How is that at my age, when I get a surge in hormones, they complete control my life for 2-3 days a month. This stuff just isn't normal folks. When it hits, I completely shut down. Everything becomes black, black, black, and I think that everything is going to hell in a cheap Wal-Mart's "Made In China" basket. What's worse is that I have no idea what has hit me until I'm foaming at the mouth, I feel like I'm carrying a ball of lead weight in the pit of my stomach, and I am pissed off about EVERYTHING! Then I sit down and cry because I know what I'm in for for the next few days. Pure hell and misery!
I change into a totally different person that my own family does not even recognize, and God bless them, they try hard to accommodate me through the whole ordeal. God is having second thoughts about why he brought me into this world when I get this way; so I am for the record. I am just a grumpy, moody, crabby-to-the-max, crying, hibernating in my bedroom mess! No one, and nothing can console me when I'm like this. Not even that irresistible piece of chocolate that Nadia repeatedly tip toe's into my room to give me without ever saying a word. It seems that she is the only one who relates to my plight because she knows that monthly curse will be upon her soon, and she's unconsciously telling me NOW what she'll need THEN when it does happens to her.
Either that or she's trying to find anything that will keep me from crying in random intervals.
The usual hum-drum daily tasks suddenly become a colossal behemoth undertaking. I get stuck in the muck of hormones, and I can't seem to function to wipe my own tushy in the bathroom. Well, not that bad, but you get the idea.
"Mom, what's for dinner", one of the kids ask.
"I don't know! I can't think - I hate the kitchen! I want to repaint it; it sucks! I can't cook in there, it's too dark!' "And curtains, why can't I still not find the right curtains for the kitchen?" "Why is there a glass in the sink. Can't anyone put their dishes in the dash washer?" "I can't cook until the floor is swept; where's the broom?", I ramble on and on.
"Mom, can we just get back to the discussion of dinner?", the child ask again trying to keep me focused.
"You wanna cook tonight?" I turn to say to one of the twins. *
"How about pizza mom?" one of them pleas with begging brown eyes, knowing it will be much easier to order out, than to hear me babble about cooking any longer.
"Sure, I'll call." I reply with a sense of relief that I have been relieved of one less duty to perform cause I'm doing good to even breathe at the moment. I am hormonal, and should not be in the presence of cooking utensils today. Especially when the hubby decides to chirp about why I didn't do ALL the housework in one day.
"Because today was NOT the freaking day to be doing IT - OKAY!!!!" I blurt out while foaming at the mouth as he slowly backs himself out of the room, cause I know I must be showing fangs by now.
I think I must be going through some pre-premenopausal symptoms but going to my mom for advice on this subject is pointless because she had all those important reproductive parts removed by the time she was my age and she doesn't remember going through menopause.
I change into a totally different person that my own family does not even recognize, and God bless them, they try hard to accommodate me through the whole ordeal. God is having second thoughts about why he brought me into this world when I get this way; so I am for the record. I am just a grumpy, moody, crabby-to-the-max, crying, hibernating in my bedroom mess! No one, and nothing can console me when I'm like this. Not even that irresistible piece of chocolate that Nadia repeatedly tip toe's into my room to give me without ever saying a word. It seems that she is the only one who relates to my plight because she knows that monthly curse will be upon her soon, and she's unconsciously telling me NOW what she'll need THEN when it does happens to her.
Either that or she's trying to find anything that will keep me from crying in random intervals.
The usual hum-drum daily tasks suddenly become a colossal behemoth undertaking. I get stuck in the muck of hormones, and I can't seem to function to wipe my own tushy in the bathroom. Well, not that bad, but you get the idea.
"Mom, what's for dinner", one of the kids ask.
"I don't know! I can't think - I hate the kitchen! I want to repaint it; it sucks! I can't cook in there, it's too dark!' "And curtains, why can't I still not find the right curtains for the kitchen?" "Why is there a glass in the sink. Can't anyone put their dishes in the dash washer?" "I can't cook until the floor is swept; where's the broom?", I ramble on and on.
"Mom, can we just get back to the discussion of dinner?", the child ask again trying to keep me focused.
"You wanna cook tonight?" I turn to say to one of the twins. *
"How about pizza mom?" one of them pleas with begging brown eyes, knowing it will be much easier to order out, than to hear me babble about cooking any longer.
"Sure, I'll call." I reply with a sense of relief that I have been relieved of one less duty to perform cause I'm doing good to even breathe at the moment. I am hormonal, and should not be in the presence of cooking utensils today. Especially when the hubby decides to chirp about why I didn't do ALL the housework in one day.
"Because today was NOT the freaking day to be doing IT - OKAY!!!!" I blurt out while foaming at the mouth as he slowly backs himself out of the room, cause I know I must be showing fangs by now.
I think I must be going through some pre-premenopausal symptoms but going to my mom for advice on this subject is pointless because she had all those important reproductive parts removed by the time she was my age and she doesn't remember going through menopause.
Thanks Mom!
By the way, you can tell you are getting older when you begin to whine about your health a lot. I'm wondering when I'll hit the "aches and pains" conversational phase of my life, while glued to that Cracker Barrel rocking chair I bought when the twins were born.
I thought getting older was about entering the "age of wisdom", not the age of "will you shut up about your hip surgery already!".
Frankly, I think the title PMS should be changed to a less politically correct, more honest description because there is nothing "Pre" about hormones happening before, during, and after, and happening every month whenever they damn well feel like it. Like:
- just before an important event in your life;
- or during a chaotic or catastrophic moment you are having with your family or neighbors,
- or after you've just won the lottery and not sure how to spend the money so you spend it all as fast as you can because freaking the hormones "told you to do it".
It should be given the new title of HCBS - Hormonal Crazy Bitch Syndrome, and every woman should qualify for FREE therapy because of it.
Where do I sign up!
*(Disclaimer: The twins are almost 12 and fully capable of making dinner because they have been trained up since they were seven to handle themselves in the kitchen. I do not leave my kids unprepared in the kitchen, and I monitor them at all times when they are cooking.
I am NOT that stupid).
