Hormones and Me

First, let me say, I have always considered myself rather "above" all this hormonal business. I mean, really... mind over matter, right? If I just decided I wasn't going to succumb to hormonal imbalances, and the consequences thereof, then I wouldn't. Seemed so simple.

For instance, during my pregnancy, I feel like I was pretty even-keeled. And I would verify that with Michael throughout, and following. Now, you're probably thinking he was just going along with whatever I said to keep me happy, but really, I swear it, I was very even-tempered and reasonable. Especially compared to some women's stories I had heard.

Same for during delivery. I never screamed or swore or anything.

Then as I anxiously awaited the post-partum hormonal peaks and valleys, again... nothing much. Michael was so helpful and willing to do his fair share, that I never felt overwhelmed or sleep-deprived or any of that that I heard so much about.

Oh., I was smug, indeed. I secretly scoffed at weaker women that allowed themselves to be moody and tempermental.

Then, just when I thought it was over... I mean, my feet were all done swelling. My belly flattened back out (well, as much as it could at 42 still carrying 20 extra pounds). And my period started again. I was back to normal. Poof. Just like that.

So when it happened (okay, and occasionally continues to happen), it really caught me off-guard.
Michael would leave for work, and I would enjoy Sami all day, and get some other stuff done--laundry, unpacking boxes in our new home, etc. Maybe whip up a lovely meal to share with my dear husband upon his return from work. And I swear to you, I would actually feel excited about having him come home. I literally do miss him just when he's at work. Then, he'd come home, and before my very eyes, I would turn into this raving bitch that I've never been before. Irritated at the tiniest of things, stressed out, exasperated with him beyond belief. Even as I was doing it, I couldn't recognize myself in there.

If he left a glass unrinsed in the sink (which for all intents and purposes is kind of annoying since the dishwasher is right there beside it), I could rant about it for 10 minutes. Or if he wrote a memo for work and asked me to review and edit it for him, I could work myself into a rage over his misspelled words. And if he made Sami a bottle and sprinkled some dry formula on the countertop? Well good God, the anger it could produce in me. And sometimes he just didn't look at me right, I guess.

Now get this straight... Michael is an exemplary husband and dad to Sami. I'm not saying he is without fault, but if you weighed out all the pluses and minuses, he's overwhelmingly a good, sweet, caring, wonderful, evenheaded, thoughtful, and funny man.

So these "times" began happening to me much further into motherhood than I ever would have expected. Sami was over 3 months old, for goodness sake. Where did this raging witch in me come from? After an episode of hissing at Michael for purely nothing, I would realize it, recognize it, and vow to not do it again. But inevitably, it would indeed happen again. It went on for about a month, on and off. And Michael would timidly suggest that maybe he needed to be more understanding because I was having hormonal issues, and that would just set me into a further rage. But now that I think for the most part I'm through it, and I'm able to look upon it, I'm fairly certain that is exactly what it was. My body was finally reverting back to where it had been for 40-odd years, and it came with a little writhing around on the inside, that just maybe affected me emotionally. Just a bit, of course.

Now in my own defense, during the final few weeks of my pregnancy and the first few weeks of my newfound motherhood, I did singlehandedly pack up two condos, two storage units, get us moved, and unpacked into a new house. This involved more financial wrangling than I care to think back upon, along with all the other items and hassles involved with moving, but times two -- since we were going from two households into one. And I had to get one condo sold, one rented, and simultaneously pack enough maxi-pads into a suitcase for my hospital stay.

Looking back, I feel awe and relief that I made it through that period. Does Michael consider with me that I've come through that and left it behind me? Not sure. But life seems to have settled into something that I find unbelievably wonderful. I'm not kidding or exaggerating when I say that each and every day I am so grateful for the life I've stumbled into. If I feel the least bit irritated with a work issue, or household issue, it takes about 5 minutes for me to reflect on how fortunate and blessed I am to be in the situation I'm in. My husband. My incredible, amazing daughter. My sister. My mom. My best friend Lisa that understands what no one else can. My invaluable "work friends." My timeless relationships with highschool girlfriends. And perhaps above all, the fact that everyone I mention here can bitch about daily happenings because they're in good health and have no other worries. What a luxury we all enjoy.

I can't imagine that I've done anything worthy of enjoying my life so much at this point.