PMS

As of Easter Sunday, I have now been menstruating for half of my life. For most of the past 14 years, people have told me that I pronounce it incorrectly: Menstrooation...but I just looked it up on dictionary.com, and the PEOPLE are the ones that are wrong: Menstraighting.

I digress.

Even though I have been Menstrooating for about 150 months, 150 times is not sufficient enough for me to know how I am, who I am or why I do the things I do during this sensitive time.

I remember growing up, my BFF's would get debilitating PMS cramps that would take them out of school for a sick day. I didn't understand that, because the only symptom I got (besides the very rare leg aches), was going a little cuckoo for a few days.

I think in high school the cuckooness was feeling down or cranky. Since married life, it has manifested itself in imaginary life crises, specifically centered around the following of gospel principles.

My DH knows that if he comes home to me in a heap on the floor, blubbering about our scripture study, temple attendance, or family home evenings, that I am probably PMSing. The truth is, that at any given time we probably do need to get better at those things, or improve the quality of our 10 minute FHE's, but in general, we are doing all right. It's just, when I am PMSing, my perception of our life is out of whack, and my ideal becomes rather farfetched: "We need to go to the temple EVERY Friday night!"

The latest PMS episode centered around a baby. I was concerned I was being haunted by a 3rd child. I stressed about the haunting feeling and talked in circles with my DH about it, quite distressed.

He did some quick thinking (and some math), and realized that many of my friends have either just had a baby or are having a baby, and that I have been watching Notes from the Underbelly (all about having babies), my own "baby" just turned 2, and it had been about 3 weeks since my last period. He convinced me that it was chemicals.

The next day I felt better and I quickly replaced my obsession with being haunted with the obsession that I am fat, and figured the only logical solution was to make homemade chocolate chip cookies. I was in such a delirium while baking that apparently I left quite a few eggshells in the batter. I of course, only realized this when several of my newly-baked cookies had these shells popping out of the top. I was grateful that shells are less dense then crap (sugar, butter, more sugar, white flour), so they floated right up to the top. Yeah Science!

Anyway, it's nice to know that my DH can see through Crazy Kage and distinguish between a real, true spiritual moment of introspection and a sincere need for change in our lives, and ugly ugly, fall-in-a-heap HORMONES. 200 Points for Jason Glass (sorry, just finished Harry Potter Book 2, so I am awarding points lately; Poopy got 10 taken away for pooping in her big girl panties this morning-stay tuned for my lame lame post on HP Book 2). I am digressing again...it's part of the PMS. Oh, gotta go have a few more cookies for breakfast. See ya.