My ovaries are doing weird, weird things to me. And yes, this post is going to, for the most part, describe the monthly shedding of my uterus, so feel free to click away, boys (apparently some of them actually read this stuff. Who knew?). Anywho, let's talk about the weirdness revolving around those lady balls inside my pelvic region.
First there's the cuddly, vom-worthy adorable stuff, like babies.
Holy cow. Just look at that pudgy little ball of cuteness. I can't even handle it. I've come dangerously close to kidnapping other people's children on several occasions lately. There was a perfectly perfect little blond boy at the festival on Sunday rolling around in the grass and smiling like it was the best thing in the universe. My heart exploded. It was disgusting. I might have even checked Etsy for one of those adorable baby hammocks that super fashionable mommy bloggers wear on the reg. I might be even more excited about the baby sling thingies than I am about the baby (note: I just Googled 'baby hammock' because I don't know what they're actually called and I found this--d'awwww).
Clearly none of this is reasonable. Babies poop and whine way more than my mutt, they suck all your money away from things like concerts, clothes and booze, and I don't even have a boyfriend. So CHILL OUT, OVARIES.
Then there's the physical aspect.
My stomach is bloated and cramping while my legs are aching, my face is back to its high school pre-Proactiv days and I'm craving Chinese food, root beer floats and all the chocolate. I just want to lay down (and NOT drive all the way to the store for a box of tampons that costs more than the fancy specialty sushi rolls. What is the deal?! If I were a dude, I would buy an extra spicy tuna roll with baked scallops and 8 different types of row on top every month just because that's how much I was saving by not having to buy tampons. D-bags.), but then I feel guilty because obviously I'm a fat cow and start hating on myself for not getting stuff done, which leads to the bigger problem that exists in the mind of the menstruating female.
I get weird. I distinctly remember being, like, 12 and making a huge bowl of oatmeal. It wasn't that pre-made stuff, it was just disgusting mush at first but I made it epic by adding massive amounts of butter, brown sugar and just the right amount of love. I didn't think I was particularly passionate about this oatmeal, though. That is until I dropped it. The bowl didn't even break and there was a tub the size of my torso full of more oats, but I started bawling my eyes out. Life just wasn't fair... because I dropped my oatmeal. I knew I was being ridiculous but that didn't stop my body from reacting to the oatmeal debacle as if it were a real life tragedy.
Fast forward 12 years and I'm having a slightly different, yet just as dramatic, reaction to something that's totally not even a big deal. I'm jamming out to Third Eye Blind and forget which road I'm on because, duh, I suck at directions, when I realized I need to get in the left lane to turn onto my road and this bish won't let me over despite the fact that all the cars in front of her are stopped at the light anyway and all it would do is convenience me. Nope. Normal Kensie would say, "I mean, you make U-turns all the time anyway, you'll be fine," but hormonal Kensie screams, "F*** YOU!!!!!!!" as loud as she can followed by lots of other expletives directed at this woman complete with unnecessary jabs at her hair and facial expression. Then I made a U-turn and it was fine.
And apparently my hormones trick my brain into thinking it's a good idea to write about them for all of the internetz to see. Whatever. I'm going to go make another root beer float.