Dear The Hormones that wreak havoc on me each month,
I know that you’re an important part of my life what with the regulation of my reproductive system and all that. I realize that without all of you raging through my body I would not have my two wonderful children to feed and drive all over town and do load after load of laundry for and nag until I’m blue in the face. I know, we all cherish those really lovely times.
But, seriously, The Hormones, can you just mellow the eff out?? For real! We’ve been doing this gig for a long time–27.5 years to be exact–so shouldn’t we have this down pat by now? Do you have to keep ramping shit up just to make sure I don’t forget that you’re working hard to keep me all feminine and womanly??
Over the last few years you just can’t do your usual thing and remind me once a month that you still love me. Hell to the estro-no. You have to intensify all that crap.
You’ve been much more generous lately. You have brought me some of the most lovely chin hairs. And now, yah, now they’re appearing on my neck too!! Precious! You little twit. I have an idea … EITHER zits OR chin hairs!! While I appreciate that you’re trying to give me the best of both worlds–reminding me that I’m still young and hip and totes cool because I’ve got friggin Mount Vesuvius on my chin (and thanks for not putting that on my forehead hidden under my bangs; that was really considerate of you to make sure that zitcano was out for all the world to see) but you’ve given me these chin hairs to make sure I know that I’ve got the wisdom of years behind me. Best of both mother cluckin’ worlds there. Well played, you saucy bitch.
Speaking of being a bitch … yah, there’s THAT barrel of fun. I never used to get crunchy and prickly with my time of the month, but those happy-go-lucky days are long gone. One teeny whiff of hormones and I’m ready to go apeshit on the next person who breathes in my general direction. Don’t even talk to me ‘cause then that shit is on. Did you say you wanted your ass handed to you today? Well, lucky for you, I am in the mood to verbally bitchslap you into next week. Are you interested in hearing a list all of your flaws so you know which areas need work? Then tell me I seem to be overreacting to anything. Anything at all. Oh, what’s that? You think I’m blowing this out of proportion? Well, back the fizzuck up because you’re about to see me blowing something up. (I’ll give you a hint: it’s your ass.)
Hey! Let’s talk about the gas!! That’s fun for everyone!! WTF, The Hormones? For the love of all things that are good and holy, how did you initiate a takeover of my digestive system too?? It’s one thing to jack up my ovaries, uterus and the boobies, but you went all kamikaze on my entire torso. I take gas relief pills like they’re vitamins now. (Reminds me, need to call the stockbroker to have him buy more shares of Gas-X.) I get indigestion like I just won a chili eating contest after I eat a bowl of Special K. What gives? I feel like I don’t eat as much because I feel like a bloated whale most days … so why am I not losing any weight?? Let me guess, The Hormones, you’re in on that shit too. You dirty bastard.
Speaking of taking over, you’ve pretty much monopolized my entire month with the exception of about three days.
Here’s how it used to go:
Days 1-6ish were the menses, the flow, the crimson wave, yah … cute names don’t really help (the period).
Days 7-13, 🙂
About day 14, I felt a little twinge or two on one side of my abdomen (ovulation; cute little ovary popping out a teeny egg with a pinch of pain).
Days 15-24, 🙂
Days 25-27, I would cry a lot during a sad movie or show, get some pimples, feel a little bloated and my boobs would hurt (PMS; let’s get this damn show on the road).
About day 28, I had cramps, started my period and dealt with that good time for somewhere in the ballpark of a week.
Lately, it’s more like this:
Days 1-4 I have Aunt Flo over for a visit (yah, still doesn’t make it any better to give that shit a code name).
Days 5-7, 🙂 Yay!! Totally normal, just regular ol’ me happy and feeling good … for three–3–whole, entire, complete days.
Days 8-13, gas, bloated, pissed off, pimples, crying over some effing recipe someone posted on facebook because it made me feel like I don’t cook enough good food (pre-ovulation).
Days 14-15, someone is taking a jackhammer to my abdomen, my sciatica is flaring up, I have a giant pimple on my face and my neck (seriously? There wasn’t enough acne real estate on my face so now you’re using my neck? Thanks, The Hormones), I’m bitchtastic, I still have gas, and I’m crying about all of it (ovulation).
Days 16-21, the same as the last two days except that my tatas don’t want anyone or anything in a ten foot radius of them and I’ve ramped it up from bitchtastic to bitch-o-riffic (pre-PMS).
Days 22-27, my lower abdomen feels like there’s an elephant standing on me–wait, no, it feels like Michael Tyson is using me for a practice bag, yah, that’s more like it; I can’t do stairs without extra security for the girls or there will be tears; I move like an arthritic ninety year old with sciatica in full swing; no one around here appreciates me, oh yah, well, screw it because I am done here, I’m going on strike and you can all just suck it; it appears that I now have a sulfur plant established in my gut that lets out continuous and regular amounts of pollution; none of my clothes fit me anymore; bitch-o-riffic has reached new heights as I am now the bitchinator; I have a new pimple on my nose to go with the remnants of the one on my chin and, wait a GD minute! Pimples on my chest too? The Hormones, you are a dirty whore. (PMS gallore)
Day 28, with the arrival of the period I am the Bitchosaurus.
I feel like I’m in the prime of my bitchitude lately, but I know that’s not true. I’m afraid that you, The Hormones, might just be getting me ready for The Change. In the same way that nine months of pregnancy aches and pains and difficulty sleeping prepares you for the aches and pains of childbirth, and the lack of sleep / exhaustion of infancy, toddlerhood, and so on. I just can’t imagine this shit ramped up with hot flashes and even more out of whack estro-flow. I’ll be the T-Rex of Bitchosauruses. (Bitchosauri??)
So, listen, The Hormones, I need you to scale this all back a little. I don’t need all these dandy little extra reminders that you’re still whipping around this body of mine. I know you’re there. And I really do appreciate all the good things you for me. I just need you to back off a bit. Reel it in. Cut this shit out. Just chill the eff out.
I’m out of Pamprin,