**This post is going to be about female issues, so, Dad, if you're reading, you may want to stop right here and catch a game of poker online instead.**
I used to be pretty lucky. I never had cramps. Very mild irritability. A little bloating. But after having Norah, I have some crazy-ass PMS.
Here's how it begins: I'm just a little tired. Little things start to bug me. I overreact a little bit.
My brain: If that storm door doesn't latch next time I close it, I'm going to burn this house to the ground.
Next, I start mentally responding to everything Ryan says with irrational rage or bitter sarcasm.
Ryan: You did a wash, but there aren't any clean socks?
My brain: Are your hands fucking broken?
Ryan: I can't find my wallet.
My brain: If you lose your wallet one more time, I'm going to duct tape it to your hairy ass.
Ryan: Could you turn on the air conditioning before I come home from work so it's cool in here?
My brain: Pussy.
Ryan: Are you okay?
My brain: Go to hell.
I also start giving him the finger when I'm in a different room. Next, I'll start eating. I mean eating. And not salads and shit. Eggos with peanut butter, Norah's M&Ms that we use for potty rewards, cheese puffs, and anything else I find in the house, as long as the expiration date is less than one year passed. This step often overlaps the first.
Ryan: What's for dinner?
My brain: Go ahead. Say something, motherfucker.
After eating and raging for a few days, my lower back starts to ache. Really bad. I start walking around holding my lower back like an old lady cartoon character. I can't carry Norah, much to her dissatisfaction.
Norah: Caaaarry meeee.
Me: I can't, Honey. Mommy's back hurts.
Norah's brain: This is bullshit.
And I'm sucking down Advil like they're Norah's M&Ms. The pain is making my anger worse.
Now I'm bubbling over with rage. My mind is letting angry comments leak out to Ryan.
Ryan: Hey, let's order pizza tonight.
Me: God, I'm going to punch you in the face.
Driving, at this point, is dangerous. Not so much for me, but for others. They don't have to cut me off or tailgate me. If I just think their car is an ugly color, I'm on the cusp of a major road rage incident. I can't watch much TV, either. Especially crime dramas, like First 48.
Detective: He was shot close-range in the face. This was personal. Very personal.
My brain: Psh. I could shoot a stranger in the face right now.
These thoughts are actually starting to worry me. And right at the point when my back is throbbing relentlessly, my appetite has caused me to gain 32 pounds, and my anger is about to result in a national tragedy, I get my period.
Then I'm fine. Ryan doesn't annoy me. (He's actually pretty awesome most of the time.) I feel good. Back to normal eating. Just like that.