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I hate to break it to you like this but I menstruate.

I am a fertile female of a reproductive age and so Mother Nature being the dirty bitch she is dictates that every month I get a visit from ‘Aunt Flo’ or any number of other ridiculous euphemisms for this necessary evil.

I, my friends, suffer from PMS something fierce and the higher my stress level the worse it is. I will say I am fortune in that I don’t suffer from cramps – my heart and uterus goes out to those of you who deal with almost unbearable pain every month. Labour four times was more than enough for me and I can’t imagine if something even close to that was a monthly occurrence.

I get irritable, bitchy, mean, emotional, and bloated.

It’s a tense time for the Prior household when momma is a monstrating (if you don’t get that reference it’s from Modern Family). There is truth to it; I am not too proud to admit that I am a little less than delightful for a solid 5-6 days a month. Sometimes less, sometimes more.

These days I have a handy dandy little app on my phone to keep track of when this blessed event will occur. I lose track and like to know if I have a biological reason to be bitchy or if it’s just Tuesday…today a fun little reminder popped up that said “Your period is due to start in 2 days.” Okay, good to know (I had already checked anyway but it’s always fun to have a notification). Then a second one popped up that said: “PMS will start in two days.” I literally laughed out loud. “Will start”? Oh, senor, you must be mistaken. The game has been on since the weekend. There was some pre-game action with an angry tail gate party, the actual game started Monday, and we are just heading into overtime. This bitch be cray.

Luckily this week is not a stressful one so I am able to tolerate a fair bit of contact with other human beings. However, be wary, as all it takes is one wrong word, direction, or shift in time, and it’s another story.

Do I feel badly about my uber bitch ways at this time of the month?  Yes and no. My kids have done nothing to deserve occasional irrational outbursts (well nothing besides inhabit my body for 9 months each and make me eat so many Mars bars I got sick of them…). Neither has my husband but he is the one who bears the brunt of it. Dude can barely look at me sideways and I’m down his throat. I try to be aware of it but realized after I went to bed last night that I had been unnecessarily kind/brutally honest about my feelings in regards to his new chair. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the chair. I want to put a lamp behind it so I can read in that chair. However, he had the gall to lie in it last night fully reclined and relax.

I literally could not even.

Rational? No. Fair? No. Nice? No. Did Mama Nature make me do it? Yes. It’s her fault and this is why I don’t feel guilty. What most men likely do not understand that PMS is such so that lots of us gals can barely stand ourselves. I also openly sobbed after watching a video on Facebook of a little boy being moved to tears by music. Was it touching? Yes. Did it warrant my 12 year old looking concerned for my overall well being? Probably not.

So in closing, my phone tells me shit’s gonna get really real in two days so best to get in touch me ASAP or perhaps give it until next week and then I’ll be back to myself (which as a friendly reminder is generally just a touch edgy at the best of times, but slightly more rational).

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