nadine at home kids.jpg

Hi.

I'm Nadine. Thanks for stopping by. The floors are creaky, the kids are loud, but the door's always open and the coffee's always on.

Make yourself at home.

The Grumps

The Grumps

Me.

Me.

Get ready for some TMI, folks!

I’m one of those weird/lucky women who don’t get periods while breastfeeding. Or at least not until the weaning process has begun.

With Ursula, I was 16 months postpartum when Aunt Irma returned. With Gilbert, 13 months.

It was a nice break, sure, but Irma always comes back with a vengeance, including a lovely side of homicidal rage.

Fun fact: homicidal rage is also the most distinctive early-pregnancy symptom for me. My husband is a lucky guy.

But because I went so long without a period, I’m still not used to PMS. I forget that the wave of overwhelming negative emotions can be directly linked to the hormonal upheaval going on.

So last night’s meltdown wasn’t totally fair.

For those of you who don’t have PMS — Hi, non-ovulating readers! — I liken it to being buzzed. Sort of. For many, having a drink or two too many can amplify what’s going on emotionally. If they’re sad, they get sadder. If angry, belligerent. If happy, they’re telling jokes (loudly) and paying for a round on them.

PMS is like this, except happy isn’t on the list. So while my stress about our currently household chaos is/was legitimate, the expression of that stress was heightened by…well, no one really knows.

(Wanna bet that if men had monthly “WTF-is-happening-I-hate-everyone” episodes we’d know more about it by now?)

When I got out of the shower this morning, I walked into our bedroom to discover that my bedside water glass had been knocked to the ground — Ugh, Gilbert — and water was pooling on the floor and reaching the stack of books by the bed. The stacks I was bemoaning the night before.

I lost it.

Life was clearly out to get me.

I will never have nice things.

And now I’m at a coffee shop, trying to recalibrate my brain with coffee and cookies and a few minutes without the kids. (I know caffeine can make PMS worse. But no caffeine is not an option. Gilbert woke up at 5.)

So there you have it. There is no moral to this story except that if you’re visiting in the next day or two, please bring dark chocolate, a few baskets and Rubbermaid bins, and then take my kids for an hour. Marie Kondo’s book might be a little soggy, but it’ll still do the trick. I have a feeling that PMS-purging is going to be VERY productive.

“Nothing sparks joy! Everything goes!”

What’s your PMS-management system?

House Inspiration: A Sick Day for Amos McGee

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