It is a very dangerous thing – writing a blog post when I’m in such a bad mood. I’m not talking the kind of bad mood where you just feel apathetic and listless. I’m talking the rage-filled, nobody-better-look-at-me, everything sucks, the-answer-to-everything-is-no, one insult away from throat-punching someone kind of bad mood. It’s one of those mornings where you wake up and can’t wait to go to bed. Why the bad mood?
There are several things that can have contributed to it: long hours at work; the stress of having to complete two job functions within those long hours; leaving those long hours to rush right into single parenting (as the husband goes to work as soon as I come home) rushing from gymnastics to soccer to the grocery store to fixing dinner to homeschooling to bath time to story time to bed time only to be unable to sleep because my mind is racing about work stuff, money stuff, author stuff, the pig sty I’ve come home to but don’t have the energy to care enough to clean; sheer exhaustion from the preceding; slipping on a pair of jeans this morning to find that, though they fit just fine two months ago, they are uncomfortably tight today and then wondering when the hell I am ever going to get the time or energy to work out to lose those stupid pounds and inches. Grrrr! Yes, all of those factors likely contributed to my mood this morning, but what set it off? What completely blew me over the edge? What horrible, unfathomable thing has pushed me into the red zone?
There was no turkey meat in the fridge when I went to pack my lunch this morning.
In an effort to stay healthy and save money, I have been packing my lunch and taking it to work. I bought turkey meat for my sandwiches only two days ago and opened the package just yesterday. It was nearly full when I went to bed last night, but when I went to make my sandwich it was all gone and I lost it. I slammed the refrigerator door not caring (in fact hoping!) that it might wake up the rest of the house – you know, those people who get to sleep in every day, take naps, trash my house and eat all of my freakin’ food. That was it. Since then I’ve been seeing red. It’s irrational. It’s silly. It’s so damn stupid but it is REAL. I really am that pissed.
So, I guess I’m writing this to try and shake myself out of it, maybe make something funny out of it. After all, they say laughter is the best medicine.
I got into a conversation with a co-worker yesterday about not pissing off hormonal pregnant women (don’t worry I am NOT pregnant, thank God), but little did I know that I would wake up with that kind of emotional pendulum this morning. I told him a story about an incident at the end of my second pregnancy. I was in the nesting phase, busy scrubbing every surface of my kitchen. I’d been at it for a few hours while the older offspring was upstairs and the hubs was out hiking. I felt good. Life was good. I was a week away from turning 31, I had a healthy baby girl growing inside of me, I was in love with my husband, in love with my son, we were all so thrilled and ready to add to our family, the house was clean, everything was perfect!
The husband came home after grabbing himself a tall can of beer to celebrate his grueling hike. He kissed me, and I got butterflies about where that kiss would lead “later,” then he went and took his backpack upstairs before joining me downstairs while he savored his beer. I continued to scrub and shine while we chatted.
My back was turned when I heard it.
A metal clink. A subtle and portentous scrape of aluminum against Formica followed by the sounds of satisfied and fulfilled footfalls walking away from the kitchen. I felt my ears go red with a scorching heat that boiled in between them, scrambling my brain cells into a fit of unbelievable wrath. Slowly, I turned and saw what I’d been dreading: an empty beer can resting on the edge of my thoroughly scrubbed countertop and my husband’s back as he made his way back to his seat. I think I even heard a sigh of content as he settled back down onto the chair. When his eyes met mine, his face paled and his features fell.
“What?” he asked me.
I couldn’t speak. Hell, breathing was even a challenge. If I had clenched my teeth any harder they would have cracked.
“Tell me you did not just set your empty beer can on my clean countertop,” I finally gritted. I watched his Adam’s apple bobble as he swallowed, and I didn’t give him any chance to respond. I won’t quote myself at this part, because every other word began with the letter “F” and I’m pretty sure you get the picture. After unleashing the fury of all twelve demons surging through me, I collapsed at the table and buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
“I just want my life back!” I wailed, having completely forgotten that only five minutes ago, life was perfect. “I want my body back! I’m just gaining and gaining weight and I’m afraid I won’t be able to lose it.”
“You look beautiful,” he said as he walked toward me and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get your body back. Don’t worry. You’re stunning, my little pregnant pup-ploogan.”
Sniffle. Aww – he was so sweet. So perfect. “You won’t think that in a few weeks when there’s no baby in there, just a big, fat, flabby belly!”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, and then he laughed. He laughed. There I was, sobbing my eyes out and pouring my heart out just as liberally and that motherf*cker LAUGHED!
I grabbed his hand and threw it off of my shoulder. “Don’t touch me, you insensitive @!*%!!!!”
Ha ha ha – I wish I had that excuse for my attitude this morning. Well, not really, because that would mean that I was pregnant. So, I guess I’ll just have to suffer through the mood, hoping it subsides quickly. At least I’ll be working in a church all day today. It might take the power of Jesus to knock this one out of me.