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.