Monday, September 26, 2011

Rage - the new fragrance by 28 Days

I don't recall if I suffered much from PMS as a teenager or in my early twenties. Perhaps because I wasn't as self-aware - going through a divorce can change that part of you forever, like it or not - or maybe because I hadn't yet had children and the entire contents of my abdominal region were still in the position that God intended. I have a few memories of days where my fuse was a "little short", if you will. But during that time I was also married to an asshole, so really, it's a wash.

Because I had all three of my children inside of 34 months, I had my period exactly four times in four years. And because of that, I was spared the reality of the post-partum, pre-menstrual hell that was to be my new reality. It's another one of those awful truths that sneak up on you - right in line with how no one tells you that three-year-olds are rotten and your breasts will be so very, very sad after you stop breastfeeding.

Beyond the cramps that feel like someone is driving a stake through my belly button and out through the tattoo on my lower back and the "fatigue" that does a great job of convincing me that I might actually die if I don't take a nap, I've come to realize that for a solid ten days of the month, I am going to be SuperBitch. As in, raging, extremely irritable, where-the-hell-is-the-saltshaker SuperBitch. And it's not like I'm unaware that I'm a bit out-of-sorts. By the morning of day three I'm past thinking my kids are out to get me and I've moved on to, Oh yeah, I'm supposed to get my period here pretty quick and that segues nicely into Well, it better come real damn soon because I can't even stand to be around myself right now.

Right around this time, I've acquired what I affectionately refer to as my "18 week bloat." You know, I look like I'm 18 weeks pregnant and not a damn thing in my closet fits - not that I've even attempted anything other than yoga pants because doing so would just hammer another nail in the coffin of I'm so fat and ugly right now, I just need to cry it out with this jar of Nutella and an afternoon of Sandra Bullock movies. And all this before the main event even arrives.

So let's see here; irrationally irritable? check; ridiculously hormonal? check; ravenously hungry? check; migraine? check; bloated? check; insomnia? check; looks like the gang's all here! Oh, and don't forget about that last-minute panicked race to Target because even though you were sure you bought enough to last for six months, you've run out. Again. The laws of nature also clearly state that this maniacal run through Target will be done with unwashed hair, mascara smeared under your eyes and you will run into no less than three people that you know but would never explain to, why you look the way you do right now. So by my calculations, I should be making this trip sometime this weekend. I can't wait!

I thought I'd end the day by yelling at my kids for reasons not good enough and an attempt to quell said rage with a salty binge. You know where I'm going with this, right? You guessed it: Ramen. And because the 1580 mg of sodium in ONE PACKET is not enough to tamp down the beast within, I made sure to make it a two-pack night.

Now I'm off to throw back a few Benadryl and a sedative with the hopes that I have a more successful nights' sleep than last. So wish me luck, ladies. And remember, if you think you're having a shitty day, feel free to give me a call towards the end of the month; we can rage together. But mostly, you'll just have to listen to me rage. Because it's All About Me.

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