My partner and I were out for a night on the town when he suddenly got a nosebleed while driving. His eyes were darting around, and he stiffened his neck as he pulled over. “Oh no, my nose is bleeding!” he exclaimed, reclining in the driver’s seat and shutting off the lights.
“Seriously? We’re like 40 spaces from the store, and it’s pitch black. Can’t you park any closer?” I replied, slightly annoyed.
“No! I don’t want anyone to see me. Hurry up and grab some toilet paper!”
“Try dealing with a monthly cycle that feels like it’s going to bleed me dry,” I muttered as I slammed the door. I had PMS, and that was not the moment to feel sorry for a bloody nose.
Do I struggle with severe PMS? Absolutely—just ask my family. Here’s what they would tell you:
I Don’t Share Food.
As mothers, we often share everything—even food, which somehow tastes better from our plates. However, my kids quickly learned that when I’m on the brink of PMS, sharing food is off the table. I’ll devour everything in sight, sneak candy from their stash, and munch on chips while waiting in the checkout line. It mortifies them, but I remind them they used to throw tantrums in public, so they can handle a little chip snacking while I’m at it.
I Cry A Lot.
A sentimental commercial? Tears. My kids sharing a cookie? More tears. My partner doing the laundry? Forget it. If a nostalgic ’90s song comes on the radio, I’m a goner. We go through so many tissues, I’ve even invested in waterproof mascara just for this emotional rollercoaster.
Everyone Sucks.
Everyone around me becomes a target for my irritability. A sideways glance? I’m flipping you off. Shopping during PMS? Bad idea—I might wrestle with the clothes that refuse to fit. If you chew too loudly nearby, may the universe have mercy on you. And if that annoying cartoon character Caillou appears on the screen, I might just lose it.
I Apologize Constantly.
I don’t believe in over-apologizing for minor things, but during that one week of the month, I’m undeniably a difficult person. So, I apologize to my family, hoping it will balance out the times I hoard snacks or send them running for cover when I’m on the verge of a meltdown. But I will never apologize for my feelings towards Caillou.
We’ve earned the right to our moods, our cravings, and our tears. We’re the ones who experience the cyclical pain and discomfort, and let’s face it: we don’t enjoy it any more than those around us do.
So, how about you rub my feet while I indulge in some ice cream, okay?