Warning: this piece may contain ranting
The irrationality is what tips me off first; I begin to resent every other human being on earth for silly things such as bumping into me accidentally in the street or daring to smile at me as I cross the road.
I seethe furiously inside before realising what time of the month it is; that’s right it’s PMS week. PMS is even harder when you are a mother because you do not have the ability to just hide away in your room stuffing your face with chocolate while watching the Gilmore Girls on repeat. No you have a child now so you have to remain (somewhat) patient, covertly nabbing chocolate from the fridge and being forced to watch reruns of Peppa Pig. This means that your partner will, inevitably, have to take the fall for you containing your temper during the day. The minute he arrives home you will lose all hope of being rational and calm; his arrival will signal a deluge of emotion. Tears, shouting, passive-aggressive comments about how long it took him to get home and on it goes. If he has any sense he will remain silent instead of fighting back, knowing it will end in apologies and tearful hugs.
Periods are no fun at all when you are a mum.
In the old days I kinda enjoyed having the excuse to eat too much cheese and consume buckets of coco cola. I would throw myself on the couch after work to watch trashy TV and load up on glossy magazines. Now it’s a whole different ball-game. For one thing I don’t usually get to sit down and if the TV is on you can bet we won’t be watching ‘my’ shows. I can’t slob about the house as I’m too busy catching up on my endless to do list while trying to figure out if it’s possible to actually get eyes put in the back of my head.
My toddler has zero sympathy for her mama and can’t understand why mummy doesn’t enjoy her usual rough and tumble games.
The worst part, though, is the mood swings. I can go from deliriously happy to raging bull in a matter of minutes. And I can’t vent on a little 2 year old (no matter how annoying she gets) so I have to ball everything up inside and scream into a pillow when it gets too much. Everything becomes so much harder as even a trip to the park becomes riddled with potential meltdown opportunities…and I don’t mean for my daughter. I once had to leave a shopping trip to Kilkenny as people touching off me was causing too much hormone overload. So every outing we make during PMS week is fraught with explosive possibilities.
And wouldn’t you know it the little maggot seems to sense when mummy is at her most vulnerable- this is the week she has the most tantrums, she fails to nap properly and doesn’t sleep through the night. It’s like she is in tune with me at the worst possible moment. I can only imagine that when puberty hits my husband will have to emigrate one week out of every month. I’m sure we won’t be a joy to be around.
For now I take my little breaks at nap-time (when there is actually a nap-time), squeezing in as much chocolate and crap TV as I can before she wakes up. Speaking of which…I better get back to it!