I should probably start this one off by warning you--I should probably not pick a day on which I'm drowning in psycho-hormones to write. But I did. So.
I know in my head that everything is not wrong; everything is not bad. But I feel like it is, and it's pathetic. Every day, I have a new thing to share on my status update, and it's a reason for rejoicing. It's amazing (in an appalling sort of way) that my body not only doesn't respond with happiness and gratitude--it wants to hide from the world for the next two weeks. Preferably, under my covers.
Then, of course, there's the inevitable thought: but how can my children be happy if their mother is hiding from them? Hm. And what kind of mother hides from her kids? Answer: a bad one. I feel like hiding from my kids. Not taking a break from them, mind you, but real, bonafide hiding. A+B=I want to be a bad mother, or would at least prefer my children's suffering to my own. And that is only one of the slippery slides down which I fling myself this time every month. Oi!
*headdesk*
I'm going to go bury my miserable head in some Psalms. Go say a prayer for my husband, will you? He's gonna have to amp up the long-suffering this weekend.
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