If I Worried About Sharing Too Much Information, I’d Have Nothing to Write About

Ordinarily, on a regular day to day basis, I am a fairly pleasant person. (Michael, no scoffing or giggling) I believe that I have a good sense of humor, I handle the stresses of motherhood well, meaning that I haven’t killed anyone or gone missing for an extended period of time, and I enjoy a variety of activities that make me a hoot to be around.


When I say ordinarily, I mean for a good three weeks out of the month, but on the fourth week, oh the fourth week, there is a malfunction in the hormone sector and I become a raving, psychotic, lunatic with an unusually intense desire for all things sweet and sugary. I find most everything and most everyone irritating and annoying, and my eyes are drawn to every mess, crumb, and disorganized catastrophe within a twenty-four mile radius. On top of all of that, my mind races with endless projects and ideas, solutions and complications, until I am so flustered that I have no choice but to eat chocolate in all of its many forms.

I know that I have been challenging lately, but it’s not my fault. I plead innocent by reason of insanity because when I am dealing with THIS week, I have no control over who I am or how I feel. I don’t want to feel like a maniacal cyborg that wigs out when Aaron uses a green crayon to color Cookie Monster and then threatens to turn my cat Bella into a pair of furry mittens if she meows one more nails on a chalk board kind of annoying meow, but I do and I can’t help it. How am I supposed to act rationally when a typical thought pattern goes something like this:

“When is Aaron’s next doctor’s appointment? It’s been a long time since I organized the spice cabinet. If we remodeled the basement, I could put an office back in this space and everything would always be in order. Chocolate. I think that I want to knit an afghan. My babies are growing up so fast! Barney is a real asshole. Ice cream. I need a hair cut.”

Now you tell me, how am I supposed to be rational with that much crap running through my brain? It’s a wonder I can even dress myself in the morning.

To make matters even worse, Aaron and I seem to be hormonally connected because when I am experiencing the monthly frustrations and irritations that come with being a woman, he seems to get in touch with his feminine side and becomes just as pissy as I am; sometimes even more so. He and I are usually at each other’s throats by week’s end and we seem to be able to push each other’s buttons like nobody’s business. As soon as I feel better, he goes back to being only moderately difficult, but until then our house is like a war zone.

Thankfully, I feel like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t think that it will be much longer until I am back to feeling like my usual cheerful self; Aaron too for that matter. Until then, you can email Mike your sympathies and condolences. On second thought…I’m the one that is really suffering here. Send me cake.