I remember growing up and finding my mom on her hands in knees scrubbing the kitchen floor until she cussed at the stains like they were there just to spite her. Every time I would promptly turn on the tip of my heel and sneak away, knowing that this was a bad time. No, not just a bad time, THE time. THE time of the month.
Looking back I remember thinking that my mom used PMS as an excuse to get the thorough cleaning done in the house. That's why she was so unapproachable, so vacant, so volcanic. It wasn't until having two three year olds of my own did I understand what my mom could have possibly went through during these squares on the calendar.
Having PMS with kids makes me want to make time freeze. It's like the world's spinning around me and all I want to do is lie down on my back, my limbs stretched as far away from my body as I can manage, and just wish as hard as I can that my hearing ears would cease and desist.
I mean can somebody please tell me what it is that makes me unable to function once a month for the last 7? It's almost as though as my kids get older my hormones get more aggressive in the war against my common sense. I KNOW I should gently sit my children down and explain to them on the third instance of poop in their underwear this week that they have options when they have to go, and yet my hormones will not allow my facial muscles to move in the mask of a smile. I KNOW when I'm running late dropping them off that I should still talk to them during the ride over about what they want to do when they get to grandma's, and yet my hormones win the battle by holding my gaze strictly on the road in front of me. I KNOW I should smile and nod when my mother in law lectures me about pushing them too hard to not wear diapers during the day at the ripe age of 3 years and 7 months because she means well, and yet my hormones do all the talking when I abruptly exclaim "okay kids if you want to keep playing with grandpa you can but I'm leaving in two minutes with or without you".
Ugh. I hate myself.
Are they getting older or am I getting older?
The number one goal as a mom, at least in my world, is to be a different mom than your own. Not that your mom was bad, per say, but as your mom's toughest critic, you seem to know exactly how she could have done things better. It's weeks like these that make me feel like the mom I never wanted to be. And soon enough, my sons will be spinning on their heels to avoid me. Let's hope they don't have to learn that lesson on their own at this point.
That's why for lent I am giving up PMS.
Wish me luck!
