Fracking Period

I've had my period for over two decades and I am OVER IT.

I fully understand I am lucky to have a fairly unproblematic cycle, but every month as it gears up to ruin a week....I feel like poop.

And not just physically like poop. Mentally like poop too.

JVE and I work out 5-6 times a week. We eat foods that nourish us and leave room for items that we enjoy. A pretty solid 80/20 lifestyle.

Then....the PMS starts and it ranges from gigantic (and sore) boobs, to uncontrollable waves of emotion (mostly just crying at all things), underground zits, the bloating....oh god the bloating. The bloating is what gets me. The logical side of me knows that this is normal and that continued exercise, water, blah, blah and blah will help and within a week I will feel normal. The emotional and hormonal side sends me careening down a path of pork rinds, sushi, overanalyzing of my jawline and trying hard not to pick at the growing volcano that has taken up residence on my chin.

So, here I am...on the teetering on the cliff of the next great mensuration and am expecting a shipment of wedding dresses to arrive tomorrow. So, I fully anticipate to be staring in front of a mirror tomorrow, stomach distended from natural causes (thank you xy chromosomes) and trying to rationalize that my body is okay....and this is temporary. However, a few of my friends should be expecting some rather panicked messages about not being able to find anything and having to get married in a Boats and Hoes shirt and sleep shorts.

.....not that I haven't considered it.

So, I am counteracting the preplanned mental fallout with my weekly Sunday Spa time, where I sneak off to the room for a spell, take a long shower, shave my hooves and hide, slap on a face mask, watch one of my comfort movies (period piece or WW2 film), moisturize and light the candles in the room....so by the time JVE comes to bed I am fully marinated in essential oils and weeping openly at Pride and Prejudice.

He is #blessed