Raging Hormones

Hormones are blamed for just about everything!  Spots, mood swings, the killer instinct and that is just for starters with pre/post menstrual/menopausal women.   Pregnant women however, are without doubt the winners in the scariest hormonal banshee stakes!

My cousin is 17 weeks pregnant.  Her hormones are just about hitting their peak now (please let this be the peak).  We met up in a coffee shop recently where upon I complemented her on her pretty pregnancy glow “this is not a glow, its vomit sweats” she snapped.  I naively enquired about her morning sickness “morning my backside! It’s all bloody day and half the night too” and so it went on.  In my attempts to escape her wrath, I gulped down my brew & burning all the insides of my mouth on my Earl Grey.

 
I used to believe that hormones were just an excuse for bad behaviour, and a legitimate excuse when exacting revenge on men.  After all, petty psychotic episodes are never unleashed on other women are they?  Or perhaps they are and we girls just accept them as being normal, healthy conduct? I also used to believe that mood swings never affected me.  Bloating and overzealous zits were my only curse each month. I never recognised the too subtle changes of temperament, for example; some nights I would look lovingly upon my husband and find him adorable.  Other nights I would sit trance-like, eyeing him evilly and mentally hissing that I was going to hack off his head if he didn’t quit breathing so noisily.  I doubt he would have been surprised if my head had started spinning 360 degrees.
 
Pregnancy hormones hit me hard – or rather hit my husband.  I cried incessantly, usually about food.  I remember one occasion, I desperately wanted a ham salad bap.  My need was ferocious! My husband parked the car outside the sandwich bar “homemade butties aren’t the same Fool” and walked towards the shop counting his change.  Then to my utter horror, he turned and scooted off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the bank.  I was livid!  He could have paid the bill AFTER buying my sarnie, the Inconsiderate, Idiotic Shmuck.  It seemed he took an eternity to return by which time I was practically clawing the windows, purple face dementedly pressed up against the windscreen.  Finally Bumface arrived with my butty.  He seemed dumbfounded to find me in a bawling, snot-laces state.
 
My eldest brother thinks pregnant women are hysterical.  I think he is just cruel!  On one occasion my Mother offered to make me boiled egg and soldiers.  I cried in gratitude but warned her that the yolk must be hard because of the risk of salmonella to the baby.  Crack, she chops the eggs head off and slop goes the yellow goo over the sides, I cry and she huffs off to make another egg.  Crack, Cry & Huff again. Crack goes egg no:3 and Yahoo, it’s hard.  My brother waltzes in and says with a wicked grin “hey Lynz, You’re eating a chicken’s baby” Whaa, Crack goes my Mother’s hand around his ear-hole.
 
Of course moods can swing the other way.  It can get you in Da Mood.  When I was seven months pregnant with my daughter I became Mrs Luvva Luvva.  Unfortunately Hubby was very off put by my swollen figure.  He has never been very good at being tactful and I have yet to forgive him for such comments as “you’ll crush me” and “My willy will go near the baby’s head -sick” hmm..he wishes!.  The all time great however was “I’m not going to look at your pubes until you are able to look down and see them yourself” Hubby deserved all the hormonal rage I threw at him.  Ask me next week though and I will probably feel differently.

 

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