It is unsafe to let a woman with PMS around her children. It's bad policy. There should be post menopausal women circulating the country to take children off the hands of women suffering from PMS.
I know, I know. This conjures up all the prejudice and sexism of times past. Like women presidents PMS-ing with one finger on the red button. I am sure that I can recall a time when I participated in the normal work force and could function. But, honestly, being a mom is nowhere near being in the normal work force.
First, there is the volume. My kids NEVER shut up. Isn't that awful of me? It's true, though. S talked/yelled/babbled/sang non stop from 6:15 this morning until 2:20 and then from 3:15 until present. I actually LEFT him in his bedroom STILL FREAKING talking. E was pretty taciturn today. He's got his brain cells working on the kindergarten dilemma. His wheels are turning wondering what that is going to be like. The volume is escalating. I'm thinking: if I don't answer, then we won't have a tremendously tedious conversation that involves me boiling down concepts for you and you responding "why" into the most circular of exchanges. He's thinking: if the bitch doesn't answer, I'll just scream the question, "WHY?!"
Second, there is the neediness. These are basic childhood needs: snacks, potty, drinks, t.v., opening toy lids, unzipping shorts. Under normal circumstances, I am happy to accommodate needs. I get it...they're kids. They can't do some of these things for themselves. BUT NOT TODAY! Today, I cannot understand why you need to pee again, you just peed 20 minutes ago. Why you are so short--get your own cup from the shelf. Snack, shmack. You just ate 2 hours ago. No, I cannot unpeel a banana. Go find a monkey.
These are days that I want to be alone. The days where my husband's (probably normal, but not to PMS Me) chewing of salad is deafening. The days where clearly every pair of pants in the closet has shrunk. The days where music on the radio becomes fingernails down the chalkboard. A telemarketer becomes a puppet of Satan. A pimple, a festering boil fit for Quasimodo. In line at the post office this morning, I actually wished the woman in front of me would stub her toe every day for a week, because she needed signature confirmation but was wondering about the extra cost for some doiley she was mailing to her daughter-in-law or some one else who didn't want it.
You see? Under the best of circumstances, I am no nun. Under PMS, I am a package of vengeful fury and wrath. I make Voldemort look like a Girl Scout.
My husband can see it coming. I haven't seen him all day (no coincidence). Too bad my children can't steer clear.
I have to say that I agree. Since I don't actually have a period anymore (thank you Mirena!), I just assume the feeling of wanting to seriously harm my husband every 28 days or so is PMS. Speaking of eating very loudly, I clearly remember my M eating in bed and me looking at him and as quietly and calmly I could manage asked: "Are you eating a BOWL OF GLASS???" No, in fact, he was eating icecream. What gives?
ReplyDeleteI don't really have PMS per say. But this past week I was in a depressive sort of funk. My self esteem was zero and the kids just festered my feelings. I told my M that I felt brain dead and worthless. That the mundane nature of laundry, dishes, mopping, getting snacks, drinks, etc...was killing me inside. So there you go you are not alone. Now I am all better. Go figure. His response was call your mom friends. They feel the same way right now.
ReplyDeleteif the word "mommy" were removed from a preschoolers vocab the world would be a better place!! i do feel your pain but more like 24/7! i think i have moved beyond PMS to early menopause.
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