Blasted Hormones

It truly isn't fair, is it ladies?

This constant hormonal fluctuation makes me crazy. One day I'm fine, the next I'm weepy about the milk being gone. I can be Momzilla or June Cleaver. My husband is Superman or the most insensitive, self-centered sap on the face of the earth. Up five pounds or down five pounds depending on the week. If I have to deal with acne in my forties, shouldn't I get out of cramps? My kids are fantastic or conspiring an evil plot against me. I'm on my game or can't think straight at all. The gray hairs I pull are gray on the end, black in the middle, then gray again at the root. My face is in a constant state of little eruptions. Some nights sleep is elusive. My hair can be soft and luxurious or as lifeless as straw. One day I'll feel flexible and agile, the next a bloated, blobby mess of a thing. My head can be pounding for days and the only solution is for the dam to break already. I like myself or I'm disgusting. I can do anything or who the heck do I think I am? I can't decide if I should kill 'em with kindness or just kill 'em.

I know I'm not alone. I can see it in the rest of you too, those days you'd love to tell your kids to take a flying leap, the mornings you're sitting in a cloud of grrr, the way you drag yourself into church and try to be nice to everybody. I hear your sighs and agitated tone. I can read between the lines of your Facebook status. I watch the mad dash for chocolate.

Can any good come from this? One thing is certain. My hormones make me needy, needy for a Savior.

But I'd rather put the smack down on Eve.

As soon as I take my Pamprin.

Hang tough, friends. We're in this together.