For the ladies

I open this post with the following:

To which I can only ask, who in the HELL has that much time on their hands and is that weird? I mean, seriously who sits around and says 'you know, my OBs could use a koozy'. And what, are you supposed to put the entire thing up in your business???

But I digress...

The anniversary weeked was stupendous! Friday night we just hung out because I even though I was feeling better I didn't want to push it. Saturday morning, we went to the cooking class. I was a little bit disappointed because I thought we'd get to do more cooking but the food was amazingly wonderful so it's probably just as well that they didn't let me back there. We did get to spend some time in the kitchen before we were ushered to our seats to begin eating the wonderful creations the master chef had prepared. Once again, I didn't get any pictures save these two. The first is one of the dishes the chef prepared. It was kobe beef that I didn't eat because one bite just about had me spitting it into my napkin - I gave it to Drew. It was gorgeous though! The second is him saying 'What are you doing? It's cooooold!' We'd had a weird cold snap come through and we weren't properly dressed, but I wanted a picture dammit. Drew struck up a conversation with the guy across from us and it turns out that his wife was the chair of the Texas Ballet. I love the ballet and this guy makes a call to his wife and got us tickets for the matinee the next day! I was so excited! After the cooking class, we went wandering around furniture stores looking for stuff for the house. The sellers agreed to fix all the stuff the inspection found so fingers crossed, we'll have it by the end of April!

Early Sunday morning I awoke from a dead sleep by a familiar twinge. The dessert from Saturday had cheese; I knew it had cheese and I know I can't digest dairy but did I eat that whole thing? Hell yes I did! Did my stomach pay for it the whole rest of the day? Hell yes it did! However, this twinge was a little lower - a few days early but unmistakable. I stumble to the bathroom and down a few pain pills so I can go back to sleep. (I was blessed with those pray-to-die kind of cramps. If I don't catch it early, I'm in bed the rest of the day.)

We get up later and Milton comes down to tell us about his drama last night and my period-brain goes completely blank about the fact that the majority of my clothes are still packed and scattered about the apartment. So, with only an hour to get dressed and leave the house, I realize that nothing is readily available to me. It was cold, I wanted my wrap - no clue what box it's in. Drew got me the most beautiful earrings that would go with the dress I wanted to wear - too much hassle to find the particular box, open it and dig for the earrings. The shoes I wanted were buried in some other box. All of these minor issues on their own but enhanced by that hazy red cloud of hormones, it was all I could do not to cry. We leave with not much time to spare and I'm not pretty because I don't have my wrap, earrings nor am I wearing the shoes I wanted to. I know I'm irrational and weepy, so I'm trying to keep it together.

I snap at Drew on the way there because I'm upset that I have to tell him that he needs to tell me I look pretty regardless. Poor guy - sorry baby! We get there with a few minutes to spare to see Cleopatra.
In my rush to leave the house I forget tampons, so at the intermission I go the bathroom to buy one. Of course I have no change, so I come back out to get change for a dollar. Back in the bathroom, the tampon machine doesn't work!!! Of course there are no other women in the restroom at that moment. Of course they start flashing the lights to go back to your seats. Of course now I have to pee. I had put some shorts under my dress to suck me in further because I felt fat and there I was in the stall wrestling with my tights, my shorts and my dress all with the dumb. lights. flashing!!! I wanted to just sit in the bathroom and cry. I barely get my tights and shorts up and my dress situated before running to get to our seats just as the lights dimmed.

I was able to take a few seconds to read the synopsis of the second act and was therefore really able to follow along with the rest of the ballet which made it all the more heart-wrenching. When it was over and we were driving home, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I burst out crying, probably cementing in Drew's mind that I am a full-out nutbag. I cried for Cleopatra, that she died and the ballerina who played her was exquisite. I cried for my baby cousin who I could totally see being a prima ballerina but who may never get that chance. I cried because we didn't get any pictures of us at the ballet. I cried for the earrings that I didn't get to wear to complete my outfit - seriously. Poor Drew was helpless, saying that talking might help. But I couldn't, because if I said out loud that I was crying because I couldn't wear my earrings, he'd surely have made a detour to the nearest loony bin.

We came home and I calmed down - I swear I hate feeling this way. I wish there was a way other than birth control to regulate mood swings. I pride myself on being relatively even-tempered and level-headed and I hate feeling like a weepy bag of mush one second, annoyed the next, and angry the next for no good reason.

We had Italian for dinner - noodles are my comfort food and Drew lost no time getting us to the nearest pasta place. We went in our 'new' neighborhood and afterward walked around the area. Since it was Sunday night, most of the boutiques were closed but it was nice out and our anniversary wasn't quite over. A ladybug even landed on him! We ended the night with no more tears thank heaven!

And now, on Monday I am back to normal - no mood swings, no stomach pain, no sore throat. Good as new!

To Cori: I humbly sumbit, my NuvaRing moment. *bowing deep*