Every month, I am visited by a stealth intruder. He sneaks into my subconscious to shroud me in a scratchy cloak of irritability. Once he's visited, I wear my PMS like a scratchy sweater, unable to shake the discomfort that hangs over me, coloring my days gray and dull.I don't notice his arrival, caught up in the whirlwind of my days, but my children do. They know instantly when I've come under his spell again.
I'm sure they don't call me PMS mom or even have a name for my transformed self, but they know. They know that their playful mother who makes up songs about farts and warts had disappeared and been replaced by this tense and trigger-happy stranger. They know there will be no spontaneous water fights at bathtime and no extra books at bedtime. They become more subdued and attentive to my every word and when I call to them in that dead voice, I never have to call twice. They come running, but not too fast, just fast enough to show their obeisance.
This is the beginning of my latest NJ Moms Blog post. Click here to read the rest.
3 comments:
It must be lovely to have an understanding kids around. Mine never bothered when whenever he visits me. Splashy bathtime is still a must. Luckily my hubby is understanding enough to help me handle my kid whenever the 'intruder' is here. That is the best part once a month.
Great comparison to the itchy sweater!
PMS is a really bad time for me too. But someone I don't get much sympathy, and no one is happy. Can't wait for menopause:)
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