Springtime! / Here comes the rain again...

The snow melted away, the trees started dropping polen like bombs, the birdies come chirping into our backyard... all is good. It even smells nice again. Time to get rid of the snow jackets. scarves, hats and other props But wait, what is this? my clothes became ugly, oh wait, it is not the clothes, it is me! The winter did not, I repeat, did not melt away the extra meat I carry around. Whhhhhyyyyyyyy?!!! This weekend was freaking cold, I am sure I used up a lot of calories. And I wasn't that hungry, I did not over eat, and I did not look like a badly wrapped sausage during the fall and winter...and I do now... I guess what happened is that I look better with more clothes. No wonder there used to be those ads saying "look better without clothes". They know. They know that about 90% of us (wild guess) look better with clothes. And those that don't are because they devote a lot of time to having a nice looking naked body, or because they are genetically predisposed to look like that. I am neither, however, I do appreciate being in an able body, do not misread me as being ungrateful. My legs carry me places, my arms help me hug, my belly button is a safe place for my children (don't ask!) I am just shocked, not sure why, but I am shocked again at the fact that nothing happens when you do nothing. That there is no magic. I guess for those of us that do not have the benefit airbrusing, reality is just that, reality. I wish I could say "I love the silvery lines of my stretchmarks" that "they are the embodyment of the triumph that motherhood is" but no. I got most of those stretchmarks when I was a teenager.
So, given the amount of "problems" with my body (note that I use problems in a very, very superficial and light manner, in the same fashion as beauty magazines do, not in the poverty and ignorance kind of problems) I am starting to think that wearing burkas might not be such a bad idea after all.

"That Day"

It starts off as a feeling of inadequacy. It feels like the day won't completely go well. I try to scare those thoughts away from my mind. But by the time I send the boys off to school (and they just won't put their shoes on) I loose it. I dive completely into this pool of slimey gooey dark stuff that sticks to me and it is very hard to wash off. All of my thoughts turn negative and there is nothing that I can do well. I should know better, this happens about once a month. This is the one day in which I should just stay in bed, for the my sake and that of everyone around me. But I can't. Life does not give me a break nowadays. Not like those miserable days in my little East Village studio where I could just stay in bed, cry, eat, watch t.v. and repeat as necessary.
So, according to me, my shrink, and my OB, it is my hormones. Would I want to take some happy pills? Hell no. It would be accepting defeat. If I take a pill it means that I am sick. And I am not. As far as I can tell. I am sure those yummy pills will make me feel just like I feel after having a beer: the world is not so bad, and I can be cool. But I need to learn to manage this on my own, I need to regulate my thoughts and moods that one day. The rest of the month I just have the regular cranky and sad episodes that go away somewhat easier. I am trying the natural stuff for a treatment and I just filled up a large thermos with rosemary tea. Now I have to swallow the multivitamin, the chasteberry extract, some calcium and vitamin e. Let's see how fast that works. I forget to plan for this day.