You know how that time of the month can be emotionally challenging? You know… when you are riding the crimson wave and feel a bit cranky? Am I being too vague here? I guess what I am trying to say is that there is something about blood pouring from your pussy that can really ruin your day.
I am feeling a bit on edge… I can rationalize the reasoning and analyze the cause, but that doesn’t make me any more pleasant to be around than a snapping turtle coming down from an 8-day crystal meth binge. My ideal day would consist of me yelling at anyone within a 60-foot radius of my uterus, then crying while they massaged my feet with their tongue and told me I was pretty.
This is where life with a child gets extra difficult… I can’t be a bitch to my baby!
Even though I have to deal with the 900 mood swings The Munch has on any given day with calm dignity, I can’t expect the same out of her. Forget that her fury can be motivated by the most benign things like getting mud on her hands, tripping when she doesn’t feel like tripping, or dropping her banana. I can’t say “Dude… it is not a big deal… get a grip…” because then I am not allowing her to explore her emotions and blah blah freakin hippy bullcrap blah. No… I take her seriously and let her feel the disappointment of juice being done before she wanted it to be.
But when I have cramps causing pain comparable to a cockroach birthing a giraffe I have to keep it together and read “Good Night Moon” two hundred times without stopping to swallow my saliva. I can’t scream in her face “ I am going to throw you across the room if you do that again..” when she tosses the lasagna that took me four hours to make on the floor while looking me in the eye purposely fucking with me. Well… actually I did say that… but it wasn’t me talking…. It wasn’t my fault…. It was aunt Flow!