There was a time, long before the infertility years, when my PMS was so bad that He-weasel would put the anticipated date of Aunt Flo on his calendar just so as to be prepared. It was kind of like a hormonal storm tracker that he kept in his Filofax reminding him what days it might be best to come home with brownies and to remind himself that no matter what I said the correct response was, “You are so beautiful and thin and you are highly intelligent”
I haven’t for many-many months felt the kind of PMS that is emotionally destabilizing, fight inducing or the kind that was so severe it would make me think about leaving He-weasel. Sure, each month when Aunt Flo would visit, I would cry at every commercial with kids in it; I would need chocolate, heating pad and a bottle of Midol. But that is to be expected, at least for me.
Today at 4:00 p.m. I was hit by the kind of PMS that requires an evacuation, a trip to Home Depot to stock up on supplies, and two week supply of food( carbs in particular). It came on fast and furious and out of nowhere. Just hours earlier I had been feeling great about the run I took on the treadmill and about a great referral source for my practice and how great my skin was looking after a Triple-Oxygen mask. I was positively glowing with good feelings.
But when the hormones hit I felt like I had swallowed a whole stink bug. My runners high is nowhere to be seen and I now feel lower than a snake’s hips. The PMS hadn’t been here for even five minutes before it started telling me that I am fat, ugly, stupid and that my blog is stupid and that I should just take pictures of L.A. or of clothes or only post pictures of Lily. PMS even suggested I just take down the whole stupid blog as who the f*ck cares what I think. PMS, is a bitch and may, I think, be a liar. However it does have a voice of authority and it all feels so true now that it is here. I know I will likely feel differently when it is gone.
I feel bad for He-weasel, he will be home soon and he doesn’t stand a chance against this level of PMS. He will surely do, say or not do or say something that will totally piss PMS off and he doesn’t even know to bring home brownies.