Oh, and period stuff, so if you can’t handle those topics (or the combination of the two), scoot along.
I had a lovely little chat with my uterus the other day…
That is, if you can call “screaming, crying, and ranting at every visible star in the sky” lovely.
You’d think that by now, what with my history and my experiences regarding all things uterus-related, that I would have bothered to teach myself to stop getting my hopes up. But I can’t help it. I’m lame like that. 😦
So when I say I am disappointed in my body for deciding to bleed again after a two-day “reprieve” last week, I mean it. Here I was, patting myself on the back, thinking that the lighter/shorter period was the payoff for losing a bit of weight. I deluded myself into thinking it was a sign that my body was finally getting its act together.
It’s cycle day 26 (I guess? Or did it start over again when the bleeding came back? What does this mean?! ARGH!) AF is here in full force. She’s unpacked her hideous floral luggage and looks like she’s here for another wickedly long stay… and there just isn’t enough chocolate in the world to console me. Cue the hysterical “it’s all for nothing, my body will never work right no matter what I do so why should I even bother” meltdown that my poor, undeserving (and understandably unprepared) husband had to deal with…
But bless his heart, he baked.
I am serious.
I haven’t taken much time to talk about my husband (because I’m selfish and this is my spotlight, damnit! ;P) but mostly because this blog is new and you and I are still in that “getting to know each other” phase (which is why I keep breaking out the big guns: gross period talk and stuffed monkey mental breakdowns? Oh yeah, you’re totally impressed. Don’t lie.)
Anyway, my husband doesn’t bake. Aside from the occasional bowl of ramen noodles, he leaves the kitchen stuff to me. After a morning/afternoon spent meandering through an art and cultural food festival downtown, I decided to take a lazy little snooze. I thought I was dreaming when I woke up from said nap with a smiling husband presenting me with
an ambrosial offering of chocolatey deliciousness a brownie! That sneaky little….!
Yes, I know, bad Manda. But come on, I was doing so well and all I got for it was a cancelled sex life and a pair of ruined undies… You get chocolate for that. It’s the deal. The fact that my husband gets this is just one of the reasons why I keep him around. 😀
I hope I actually have some interesting news to share soon, but in the meantime: remember that we don’t talk about the cheesecake. Or the brownies. And if any of you breathe a word of this to the nutritionist I am apparently going to see in about a week, I will have no choice but to be very, very disappointed in you. I will corner you in a dark alley somewhere. We’ll have a lovely little chat.