gray, gray, go away

Nope, I'm not talking about my hair, which is a helluva lot grayer than that post from almost three years ago.  I'm talking about the skies.  And my mood, which are mirroring each other this week.  I may trudge a little too close into TMI territory with this, but it's Week Three for me right now (you ladies know what I'm talking about), and it's becoming crystal clear to me that Week Three turns me into a monster.  Don't get me wrong, I'm no heavenly saint come Week Four, but Week Three Me is a ball of fury who goes from calm to rage in the blink of an eye.

Back in the fall, I searched for a good OB/GYN, with my number one requirement being that the doctor also possess lady parts.  And my quest was not only to get my parts checked out (which I was definitely overdue for), but also to address some emotional issues that I publicly admitted to over a year ago.  Sadly, 13 months later, these issues aren't resolved, but I do think I'm making some progress in understanding them.  Especially with this whole Week Three factor.  During Weeks One and Two, I'm not claiming that I deserve the Mother of the Year title and tiara, but I do all right.  Since there's such a significant switch in my ability to remain even-keeled once Week Three begins, there's got to be a hormonal issue in play, right?  With a mother who began her menopause experience in her early thirties, should I be surprised if I'm heading down that path already?  I'm hanging on to 34 for a few more months and have grown and birthed three children, so now that the baby making factory has shut its doors for good, this just might be the case.

Or, I worry that I could be the poster mom for PMDD.  But then I wonder if I'm just too easily swayed by enthusiastic pharmaceutical advertisements.  I mean really- 3% to 8% of women are afflicted?  Am I really that special??  (I do have a ginger kid, though, and those numbers are 1% to 2% of the human population!)  I don't want to be the person who goes into the doctor's office with a sticky note blaring the names of the drugs I am convinced I need, but I'm thinking that these issues are not ones that I can resolve on my own simply by eating better and getting more exercise.  (Two things that I am aware that I need to do.  Don't judge me.)  I try to be patient, and I love my children dearly, but there's nothing like hearing your four year old daughter make up a song that includes the line "She's mad all the time" to seriously break your heart.  Nice, nice.  (You could say that we've had a week.  I'm hoping that her "all the time" is somewhat limited to the previous 72 hours or so.)

So, on my 12th wedding anniversary, I will be returning to my lady-parts-possessing OB/GYN, sticky note in hand that may not list the meds that I want, but does include a whole lot of adjectives about how Week Three affects my life.  Hopefully she can offer some useful assistance, and Red can go back to composing songs that have me folding laundry and collecting caterpillars and brushing her hair-- the things that I'm good at, and make for much happier lyrics.


Ready for Week Three to pass,