Heaps O'Hormones

Usually a week or so before my lovely Aunt Flo comes to visit there are heaps of hormones raging through my body. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell when things are 'a changin' but other times it's very obviously apparent. Maybe to others more so than myself, but to me, the ease or difficulty varies from month to month.
Well, now is that time, where a week, ten days or so, down the road from now Aunt Flo will be making her uninvited appearance. How do I know this time? I was wandering around blogs this evening and came across one of a beautiful woman who created a beautiful doll for her beautiful little girl. Oh, so what. Who cares, right? Well, anyone who really knows me, knows that I can't have any more children. And anyone who really knows me knows that I wish I could have just one more; a little girl. I have two boys who I love dearly, more than life itself, but occasionally my heart pangs for a little girl to dress up, put bows in her hair and put pearly pink lipgloss on her pouty little lips, twirl around with and sing to Britney Spears. Wait. Sing to Hannah Montanna... that's the popular new idol of young girls these days, isn't it? Anyway, I think most women know that maternal tune that eggs the heartstrings on and on saying, "Give me a baby to hold..." and although I've already been blessed with children, I am still no exception.
So why did that doll have me so forlorn? I had one when I was very little. Just like that, or very similar. I can't recall if it was mine, or something I shared with my sisters, or something I only got to play with at my grandma's house (I keep thinking it was one of grandma's toys), but in any case, I loved her. She had a pretty flowered red dress during the day, and when you flipped her skirt she wore a flowerly blue night gown, eyes closed, just like the doll in the photos on Bethany's post. Love for one little doll just came flooding over me, and I wanted to give that to another little girl, my own little girl. *sigh*
Oh, but that wasn't all. I blew that moment off after longingly looking at Bethany's photos of the doll and reviewing the patterns (I wish I could make one for myself to hold at night, but I think my hubby would consider that a little 'too' strange) for a while. How did I really know that it was 'around that time again' that I should start looking forward to (Yeah right!) my Aunt Flo? Well, I had headed back over to Crunchy Domestic Goddess and read down a few entries. I came to this one and about half way through, I finally broke down and started bawling. Yeah, I did. Where it says, "Not breastfeeding, but support it?" Oh, oh, oh. It made my heart ache. All the memories of having to stop early when Hunter was still a wee babe, and how difficult it was to accept. Not breastfeeding... that's me! :( That's when I had that little lightbulb go off in my head telling me that normally I can keep my composure while reading things like that, but since I obviously can't tonight, then I must be... well, hormonal. *sigh again*

The touchy subjects will have to be faced now and again, and as much as they hurt, I still love them. I love that so many other women are blessed with beautiful little girls that get to dress up and play with dolls (or power tools, if they so choose... no, the toy kind, duh!) and still have children. But for now... it sucks. I just have to remind myself for the next week or so...

I'll be over it in a few days, when my life is all about tampons and cramping and yelling at everyone to shut the hell up and leave me alone. :")

Subconscious Injustice

5 inch, pale yellow, heavy, ceramic hoop earrings.
Decapitation of a Mute for the simple fact that they cannot protest... loudly.
Dishonesty.
Letters about balls.
Thrift store shopping with no purse, no wallet, no money.
Nicknames like Dr. Vaginator should not be considered civilized. Yet, it's still acceptable and delightfully so.
Wrapping my head, tightly, in duct tape sounds soothing.
Being poked in the eye by the child sitting on my shoulders.
It would be awful to open a piece of mail with anthrax inside.
Stepping in dog feces.
Stepping in dog feces and wondering what that smell is.
Glad I haven't stepped in any dog feces lately.
Poems about slime, sulfur, cucumbers and limes.
Incarcerated friends.
Crazy ex-girlfriends.
Missionaries who ask if they can do anything for you today, when they aren't allowed to even step inside your home while you're home without your spouse. The point is?
Not thinking ahead.
Complications.
Time seems to drag on and on on the days where it should be flying by, if only so you have reason to hold tightly to what little sanity you have left.
Unprofessional professionals.
The phone not being answered.
Being hung up on.
Lawyers.
People who work for lawyers and know how to manipulate good people.
Ugly, old men.
Sometimes I wish I were still immature enough to doorbell ditch someone's home, leaving a dirty diaper on their front porch.

On a good note... there haven't been diapers, dirty or otherwise, in my home for a week now.