Today is one of those days that I didn’t want to get out of bed. Today is that one-day of the month that all women dread. I didn’t know I was blessed with it until I arose, and then quickly retreated back to my room with my coffee; an ill attempt at trying to calm my nerves by starting my morning with a little quiet. Yeah, okay! That would’ve been great if my seventeen year old, son wasn’t insistent upon giving me his opinion on this matter. Rest assured, he will make it to eighteen…but barely.
I usually give those in my immediate vicinity a heads-up when I know it’s coming out of common courtesy. It’s called ‘prevention’. Out of love I am simply trying to prevent them from saying or doing the wrong thing, which has been known to create diverse reactions ranging from unwarranted, cascades of tears, to shrill screaming with ashtrays being hurled. I believe this has less to do with my emotions exaggerating the current situation, and more to do with the fact that it sucks to be me all the time, but I am less tolerant of their selfishness during these days. Yeah…that’s it! Anyway, I do try to let them know when it’s coming, and usually on the second day of it (that day is always the worst) announce that it’s not the time to ((jack with me)). For the most part this has been foolproof. Well, until lately that is.
Going through menopause is fun, fun, fun! And one of the best things about it is the fact that the farther into it you get, the less you can determine exactly when this gift is going to be presented to you, or how long you get to keep it. ((Yay!)) It just sort of shows up at will, and leaves when it’s good and ready. Likewise, I used to be able to gauge about when it was coming by my cravings for chocolate and Pepsi, my back aching, and the owliness; now it’s all the time, so who can tell the difference? I guess because of this I can cut my husband and son a little slack, but still…
I don’t know whether my boy is brave, or just dumber than a box of rocks. I’m beginning to question this often now, as he seems to have an opinion on anything and everything that has to do with me. Sometimes I find hilarity in the fact that he’s such a know-it-all and thinks he’s lived life enough that he can make a judgment call; other times…not funny at all! This morning was one of those times.
Before he left for school he made a grave mistake. Out of the goodness of my heart I let him know what day it was, thereby ensuring there would be no excuse if he overstepped boundaries and ended up with a witch for a mother. I fully expected the news to be received with the usual groan, rolling of the eyes, or even subtle remark, but never expected what I was about to hear escape his lips. He looked at me and actually said, “I don’t know why you can use the excuse you’re on your period. Ashley doesn’t act any different when she’s on hers.” Say what? Ohhh-nooo, he didn’t!!
True Story: When my oldest son, now 26, was 12, we had a discussion. This discussion occurred after I was already in my thirties, after I’d already had three children, and after my Tubal Ligation. This discussion occurred because of all the above, and the effects that these things had on my cycle. Where once I’d been basically symptom-free before, after I did a complete 180. Without going into too much detail, let me just say that my son sat on the couch listening as I explained why he’d better tow the line, was completely void of emotion, seemed to ponder everything for a moment and then brilliantly said, “Let me get this straight. You’re achy and moody a week before. You’re achy and moody a week during. Then you’re recovering a week after. What, we only get one good week a month?” I had to stifle back the urge to laugh, but simply gave him a hug, a pat on the back, and said, “You get it? Good. Now you’re a man!” Even today, just thinking about the expression on his pained, young face, makes me want to break out in giggles.
My youngest, the baby, the spoiled one, apparently hasn’t been blessed with the discretion that my oldest was where I’m concerned. From that moment on my oldest knew; this one apparently is still in training. When he had the nerve to compare me and mine to his not-quite, 16 year old, girlfriend and hers, well…I had to remind myself that he is still young, naïve, my son, and I love him no matter what. If I hadn’t, it could’ve gotten real ugly, real fast. I didn’t have time to explain why there is a huge difference between being a teenage girl, and a middle-aged woman who’s had her tubes tied and is going through menopause. I simply threw out a few harsh words, a stern look, and sent him on his way to school. Better for him he be there than here.
I sit here now and realize I’ve failed with him. He is ill prepared for marriage in the future and something needs to be done quick if I ever hope to have grandchildren by him. Frankly, I don’t see him making it a year with any woman that has the least bit of backbone. He is rude, insensitive, and very unflattering. Because of this I feel compelled to do the right thing as his mother. You know…with his best interest in mind. Now what shall his punishment be? Hmm…