Sunday, July 25, 2010

My Uterus has Street Cred

I have been experiencing Mother Nature's little monthly gift for twenty years now.  I was 13 when I started and I'm 33 now.  Yet, every month I continue to be somewhat surprised by my period's appearance.  Wait, let me correct myself, I am surprised when Janet shows up (see previous post: The Gift That Just Keeps on Giving).  This last week I have been more irritable than usual, nearly wept on more than one occasion and was just plain old Bitchy.  I just kept blaming it on lack of sleep.  Lack of sleep because of the new puppy. That's another story for another time.

Take for instance this very moment.  I'm trying to write and my oldest son is trying to joke with me.  It's taking every ounce of self-restraint not to scream "FUCK OFF" at him.  Just because he's talking to me.  Yep, Janet's definitely here.

Earlier today I picked my daughter up from the airport.  She was visiting her dad in B.C. for the week.  I talked to her twice and we texted lots while she was gone.  Upon seeing her though I needed to use a great deal of self-restraint in order to stop myself from sobbing.

Some physical signs have accompanied my highly charged emotions. This led me to start thinking of my uterus as a tiny gangster.  Like most of the time, she's chill.  Hangin' with her homies and just keepin' it real.  Then once a month, bitch goes off.  And I picture this tiny uterus gangster screaming at the ovaries and fallopian tubes and being like: "It's go time motherfuckahs!" Like all cracked out on the hormones and out of control.  My uterus has a grill too I think.  And believe you me, she's packin' heat.

She will not rest until Janet is in full control.  Which is why yesterday when my husband accused me of being rude (when I was making fun of him) and said he didn't want to talk to me anymore, I nearly burst into tears and fell into the depths of self-pity and slunk out of the room with my laundry basket.  Sometimes Janet is a little bitch.

The next time though?  Janet will come atch' you and you won't even see her comin'.  You'll feel it motherfuckers.  Which is why, dear friends, I'm all for gun control because if I lived somewhere in which it was easy to obtain and carry a firearm, I'd be in jail. 

What shall I call my tiny gangster uterus?  U-Dog?  Lakisha?  Denise? Maybe something simple like Jill.  I think it should be less obvious of a gang name than not, because for the other 21 days of the month or so, she really doesn't cause any problems.  It's that one week when her meth lab blows up and in turn, everyone pays.  I was going to say most of all me but given I practically just growled at the approaching teenager and asked him not to look at me, that may not be accurate.

Luckily I was just at the grocery store and stocked up on peanut butter cups, chocolate chip cookies and three bags of chips.  And I've changed into my elastic waisted shorts. 

All I need now is to be left alone.  For my safety and yours.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

The GiftThat Just Keeps on Giving

So I've decided the only thing worse or even comparable to suffering from one's own PMS is living with a person who possesses half your DNA, who is also PMSing.  My daughter is 13.  Her and I are on the same 'schedule'.  Well really just as I'm re-evolving back into myself she is becoming possessed by some unpredictable mean girl named Julie.  Julie is just what I've decided to call her when she's suffering the throes of monthly mind/body/soul manipulation courtesy of Mother Nature.

I'm not bashing her.  I love her very much.  It's just that now I have an inside look into watching somebody you are familiar with turn into someone else altogether.   She's mean.  She's hard to please.  She's emotional.  Oh, wait, she's happy.  Um, wait, no she's not.  Somebody feed her some chocolate!  Yesterday I bought her some Midol type of pills and it made me think of that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Ray brings homes the pills to Debra and he's quite proud of himself and she nearly shoves them up his ass.  I envisioned a similar scene unfolding when I presented daughter with them yesterday.  Instead she just looked at me and barely acknowledged my presence.  I backed away quietly.

My dear daughter comes from a long line of women who are more than a little impacted by hormones.  None of us, to date, have had an easy go of it.  We could've written that new Kotex commercial with the awesome chic talking about twirling and kittens.  There is no escape. 

Now should things ever really line up and we both 'transform' at the exact same time, I'm afraid we'll have to rent an apartment in the name of sparing the penis-bearers in our home.  Because God help them, they couldn't say or do anything right for, at the very least, a few pivotal hours or so.  On the best of days it's trial and error but when Julie and Janet (my alter ego, I've decided) are around, it's nearly impossible.

Oh well, at 33 and 13, we respectively have approximately 20 and 30 or so years to go.  Maybe more, maybe less.  This seems so unfair.  I'm of the belief Mother Nature should back off until females are at least 16 and then once done child bearing, be done.  Not in a nasty night sweating hot flashing beard growing way, just done.  Or if you choose not to have children, once that decision is firmly made, you get to be done. 

Alas, I am not Mother Nature.  Just some poor soul with an alter-ego who makes a timed monthly appearance and a daughter following in the same path....

Bring on the Midol (for Julie, Janet prefers Vodka).

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Caught Unaware

Ever since my husband did right by me and got himself the big 'V' I don't do a real good job of keeping track of my 'Ladies' Days'.  So I find myself increasingly irritated, unable to sleep and ingesting salt at an unhealthy rate and not having a clue why.  So I just did a little checking here and found out, yep, it's not only work related stress contributing to insomnia...

It also explains my complete lack of patience with the small humans in my home.  It's Canada Day today.  Our equivalent of July 4th only with less blue decorations.  Well, not less, there are no blue decorations.  Anyway, we are planning on heading down the local park to take in the festivities and enjoy the day. However after hearing "Mom" upwards of 37 times this morning by 9 a.m. I said this to my six year old:

"If you don't start being good now, we are not going to the park." (this is reasonable)

"We will not get Slurpees or take snacks; we will stay home and watch Educational programming and eat raw carrots and celery WITHOUT DIP." (first part reasonable, second half, more punishment for me than them; I have a real issue with vegetables.  Especially raw).

He giggled, asked if we could take some bread for the ducks and walked away.  At six, he knows mommy is all bark and no bite except for the hours imminently preceding the arrival of Mother Nature's most precious gift.  But since he doesn't even know about that yet, he doesn't know he's playing with fire.

Right now I'm enjoying blessed quiet thanks to the 3-D version of Coraline borrowed from the library yesterday. I have already kicked them outside for awhile this morning but still, it leaves me wondering, what did moms do before movies or TV, even?  I shudder to think.  Although the majority of children were home and play dates weren't formally arranged affairs.  This new technologically advanced uber-organized world may not be doing anyone any favours in some respects.

As for me, I started the day with a frozen chocolate bar and three cups of coffee.  I still have more chocolate.  For now anyway.

Happy Canada Day!