Attack of the Hormone Monster and her Button Pushing Sidekicks

This is a post about PMT – if you are someone who doesn’t like to think about, let alone read about menstruation and it’s affects on the females in your life, you should probably stop reading now. If you are my husband, you should know that this does not give you licence to act like a jerk and then blame any reaction on PMT. If you are my husband’s relatives, you should know that the sun does not in fact shine out of his bum at all times and that he can act like a jerk every so often.

Now that the disclaimers are done, on with the post…

Now that I am older, and wiser (ha!), and have experienced the joys of having children (as well as just how damn hard it is sometimes, to get them and keep them) I don’t despise my period like I once used to. Back in my youth (ah the good old days) it was just a big hassle, something that I could have happily lived without, but these days, while it is still a of bit of a hassle it is also a welcome reminder that I am able to have another baby… some day… possibly… maybe… if we ever wanted to…

Back in my youth though, I am sure I didn’t get attacked by the Hormone Monster nearly as badly as I do now. Has it gotten worse since I had kids? Or is it just that I now live with three small humans who’s main goal in life is to push my buttons?

I am sure I have a button in the middle of my forehead that says ‘whinge at me’ and another on my back that says ‘destroy the house while I am not looking’, not to mention the ones that pop up from time to time that say ‘fight with your sister’, ‘packing up is for losers’ and ‘chewing eclectic cables is fun’

The buttons are probably there all the time, it’s just that sometimes, like now, when hormones are raging and my body is trying to decide whether I need the lining of my uterus to grow another human being or if I can happily live without it… it’s these times when the buttons suddenly double in size, multiply at a fast rate and seem remarkably sensitive in nature.

Things that I would usually deal with without fuss or bother drive me INSANE. That whiny tone of voice literally grates against my brain, making me wonder if my ears might bleed from the pain of hearing it. That bottomless washing basket that I have joked about so often suddenly appears as my nemesis, who’s only goal in life is to chain me to the washing machine and deny me any decent clothes to wear any time in near future. And if that baby eats one more piece of dirt I am going to SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Logically, when I am not in the midst of button pushing hell, I know that all this is only giving me the shits because I am somewhat, slightly, just a teeny tiny bit irrational and over sensitive at the moment. That doesn’t make it any better though, does it! It doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. It doesn’t make the hormones subside, or the buttons disappear, or me back away from the edge of that very inviting cliff.

Nope it does not. In fact it makes me want to crawl into the study with a big banana milkshake and a packet of red frogs, turn the heater up full bore and surf the net for hours on end while ignoring every other living thing in this house.

Except I can’t do that can I!!!

Because the baby smells bad and “Zoe said something mean to me” and “Izzy won’t let me sit on the couch” and eventually everyone will want to eat something other than dirt and eclectic cables and we don’t have any milk left nor any red frogs and some telemarketer still thinks we are the Murrays and now there is an argument about fairy wings and then they want a puzzle out of the cupboard and he wants to be picked up and the oven is beeping at me and the washing needs to be hung out and god forbid we wake up the sleeping breadwinner and now this stupid, damn, bloody, crappy internet connection won’t even load gmail….

ARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! BLOODY! BLOODY! CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!

Okaaay then…. sorry about that little outburst… I feel better now, having got that all out of my system. I’d still like to lock the world out, but I won’t. Instead I’ll pick up the baby and get out the puzzle and make a note to buy some evening primrose oil and get on with the day as best I can. I’m sure my buttons will be going off again in another five minutes but I am going to try very hard to remember that ‘this too shall pass’… but just in case I can’t manage that….please… someone tell me I am not alone.