Unless I have been watching my calendar closely, PMS symptoms can sometimes sneak up on me.
I get all the usual signs like when I’m at my Zumba class and I’m jumping up and down (or walking down stairs or driving over pot holes in the road for that matter), I sooooo would-if-I-could hold onto my breasts with both hands to stop the bouncing and the pain that comes with it. Don’t worry, I don’t. I know that would look creepy. (Except to DUB)
Another sign is when I go on the hunt for salty foods (read chips) and I start ranting about the crappy health food that is taking up all the cupboard space where potato chips should really live!!!!
Then I start beginning every sentence with “What the hell…” or “Why the hell…” You can pretty much insert any thing you can think of after those words e.g. …is that still doing on the floor! or, …do you have to drive like that, or …are you looking at me?? This is when, for some reason, my husband is hard to find. “What the hell is up with that anyway?”
By the time my tongue has doubled its original size due to all the salt I’ve licked off every cracker I can find in the house, I am ready for the chocolate. Bring me chocolate. NOW! (Why the hell didn’t I save a few chocolate Easter eggs for times like these?)
The final palm-to-forehead, now I get it moment, arrived today while watching the Oprah show. It was at the end of the show when I glanced at the 3 foot high mountain of completely soaked used tissues beside my chair that it hit me. With puffy red eyes and a headache only a really good cry can offer, it finally occurred to me that my eggs must have dropped and are planning their escape.
There is some relief in the knowledge of what nature is up to, in the natural rhythm of the waxing and waning of the moon. At least I think so anyway. I’d ask my husband what he thinks but he’s disappeared on me again.