I Suppose I Should've Seen This Coming

I know I've said it before - and I'll say it again. I am a hormonal mess. The good news is that I've FINALLY gotten it in check, (as much as I think is possible). The bad news is that every month, I get hit HARD - and I mean CRAZY HARD with about a 10 - 12 hour window where the world becomes the bleakest, saddest, most hopeless place imaginable. I wallow in self pity - and oftentimes decide that my husband is my punching bag. It's like Jekyll and Hyde - I go from being a wife who couldn't love her husband more, to wanting him to refrain from uttering a single word for fear that I might actually do something drastic, like threaten divorce for no reason whatsoever. (Oh - and by the way... I have, but of course, I've NEVER meant it). It truly was the hormones talking.

Yesterday was no exception - and I should've seen it coming. Perhaps you could tell from my blog post that something was off - not that I don't always have impatience and OCD to some extent, but certainly at "that time of the month" it goes from about a 3 on the Richter scale to a 10 in mere seconds. It's INSANE.

Anyway, so I was literally fine when I left work. In fact, I was in such good spirits that I complimented a girl in the elevator because she looked like she needed a pick-me-up.

Then, I got into my car, and proceeded to pull out of the parking space and BLAMMO. I whacked the front end of my car into a concrete pole, because I was parked in a different spot than usual, and just wasn't paying any attention. Now here's the thing. I had my last car for three years, and never got into an accident... no scratches, dents or dings - and it was in pristine condition when I turned it in.

That was a lease. I opted to buy this car, because I figured it was a good idea overall. Little did I know that there is some otherworldly force that makes every-other-car of mine a frickin' catastrophe waiting to happen.

Within one week of purchasing my new car, I was rear-ended. Then, a mere few months later, I somehow managed to hit the protective structure of a fire extinguisher. (Don't ask). Cut to today: I hit the concrete pole thingy in my office building - and now I've got yet another dent - and lots of unsightly white scrapes on the right front end of my car as well.
I haven't even owned this thing one full year - and there have already been three mishaps. WTF?!?!?

So I called John after surveilling the damage - and of course he was like, "no big deal," but this was the straw that broke the camel's back for me - and when I hung up the phone, I burst into tears and cried all the way home.

Hello PMS!

This of course snowballed into a series of self-pitying thoughts including the fact that my husband has to have surgery in a few weeks, we don't have life insurance (and I know it's totally morbid and weird to even be worrying about that), I can't lose my last 10 lbs no matter how hard I try, I'm jealous of all of my friends who constantly go on vacations, I want to eat the world, and somehow, I look like a big fat cow even though I just lost 20 lbs.

Fortunately, my husband saved the day, (as best as he could). I was about to start cooking dinner, and he offered to go get me wine and mediterranean food from one of my favorite local haunts.

YAY JOHN!

Afterwards I apologized for being such a pain - acknowledging how messed up I get once a month - and admitted to essentially needing a punching bag - and he says - "It's as if you want a Death Star to blow up" which made me laugh - but only half-heartedly, because I knew he was right. He's the Death Star - and yes, I want to destroy it. I forewarned him to not fan the fire. So that's what my poor husband dealt with all night.

Now imagine me pregnant.

P.S. Still annoyed that I don't have my videos to post. UGH.

To Kid or Not to Kid... a Weighty Issue

I have touched on this before, but let me elaborate. (Indulge me, please).

I have struggled with weight my entire life. From the time I was a little girl, I noticed that I had more meat on my bones - more muscle in particular, than my peers. It made it VERY and I mean VERY frustrating to wear things like leggings in elementary school. I was ridiculously self-conscious about my legs in particular - and am to this day, though I have made vast improvements respecting my self-image and confidence. In fact, nowadays, I'm okay with what I look like. Are there things I wouldn't mind altering just a teeny-tiny bit? Of course, but let's no go there... at least not in this post.

Here's where the selfish/vanity aspects come into the picture. (You're going to wonder what this has to do with getting preggers, but bear with me).

I have never overeaten, nor have I eaten too much due to stress, nor have I eaten unhealthily... In fact... my parents did a really good job of teaching me to eat properly. I was always active, whether it was dance classes or otherwise... but... for whatever reason(s), I have almost always been bit overweight. Mind you, my portions are spot-on as well. Most people think I eat like a bird.

Anyway - as I got older, and started contending with 'female' issues like raging hormones, I had various doctors proposing a variety of reasons for why I wasn't able to lose weight, despite rigorous physical activity, an appropriate diet, and so-on-and-so-forth.

One day, one of them finally said - "Hey, you've got PCOS, (Polysystic Ovarian Syndrome). You shouldn't eat carbs!" Okay, so I stopped eating carbs, (the bread/pasta/grain kinds - not the veggie/fruit kinds), and lo-and-behold, I lost weight. Lots of it. Mind you, I was exercising as well... everyday.

But then of course, I started eating carbs again. Even though I was eating less food calorically, I gained weight, despite continued exercise.

Years later, I had other doctors tell me I didn't have PCOS, and that my other doctors had all been crazy/wrong/whatever.

Long story short - I kept packing on the pounds. The ONLY, and I mean the ONLY way I feel good, energetic, positive, etc. AND lose weight - is by not eating pasta, bread, potatoes, starches, etc. That's it. Bottom line. No doctor can explain it - and frankly, I just don't give a damn anymore. It works for me, and what's wrong with a pragmatic approach? If one more person tells me that it's calories in, calories out, I"m going to lose it.

Anyway - that said, I know being pregnant would make my life miserable in certain respects, (not just the inevitable weight gain), but because I have also struggled with hormonal imbalances. Fun stuff. Birth control is something I HAVE to be on. It isn't really a CHOICE. It regulates me. We'll leave it at that. No, I'm not a crazy loon without it, but let's just say I've experienced some very unpleasant, (and sometimes unbearable e.g. requiring a hospital visit and demerol), physical pain on a monthly basis without it - and who wants to deal with that?

And yes, I've been told that being pregnant lowers your risk of various cancers, can become the natural way to 'regulate' everything and blah blah blah blah blah...

You know what? I don't know that actually getting pregnant is worth experimenting with as a potential method for straightening all of that out.

Besides, I've got it all under decent control right now... and, as the saying goes... If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

Why is this so HARD?

P.S. I toyed with the obvious imagery for a while this morning, (pregnant belly, scale, etc.), and happened upon this image, which I decided was perfect. A bit strange, but perfect. I do however have to credit where I found the darn thing because I have no idea whether or not I"m completely ripping someone off. I think it's some funny Brit's page which I will undoubtedly look into later when I'm not half-asleep: http://bobballs.wordpress.com/2009/07/