My hormones have taken over my brain this week as well as today’s post.
We women have all been lied to. Male friends, you may want to skip this part.
They tell us that once we have children, the pain and cramping associated with our cycles will diminish.
Don’t ask me who this “they” is; if I knew exactly, I would have already gone after them with my cake server that is shaped like a shoe.
In reality, the only thing that happens after giving birth is that we develop a high threshold for pain.
I don’t know about you but my epidural didn’t work all that well so I know what labor feels like.
Labor, contractions, childbirth…hurts. Bad.
When your cycle returns, it suddenly seems better. But it isn’t. It’s a mirage.
All that happens is that you think it is better because nothing compared to the recent pain you experienced pushing out a living being the size of watermelon through something the size of a lemon.
Guess what: My son is now ten. It’s been ten years since I gave birth and my high threshold for pain has completely worn off.
I have had three separate near death experiences this week due to the cramping and will forever blame my monthly visitor for ruining Sunday’s race.
It’s not fair that men can sign up for races all la-de-da and never worry about their 28- day calendar nor is it okay with me that they will never feel cramps as we know them.
I will even admit to including my son in this male hatred list after yesterday morning.
As I was dying, he looked at me and said, “so what’s your problem?”
See, you would add him to the list too.
I have decided that my lack of threshold for pain has been affecting my running for a while now.
I am not running at uncomfortable paces (read: race pace) often enough.
In an attempt to remedy this, next week I intend to bring a run or two over to the track in order to enforce speed work and tempo runs and whatever else I should be doing that I haven’t.
This will easily fit into my routine since I drive my son to school and the high school track is steps away.
Speaking of school, do you know of an open one that I can send him to prior to next Tuesday? I am slowly losing my mind.
I haven’t been able to get any work done or run very many errands on my list which includes the grocery store.
I was down to one apple yesterday. Do you hear me? One apple. Luckily, after a thirty minute battle following my near-death cramping experience, my son finally agreed to stop at Trader Joe’s quickly before we picked up his friend for lunch and the movies.
Parfaits all around. I treat the kids well, don’t I?
So the movies. I kind of sort of had words with the popcorn guy.
I usually bring snacks to the movies but I was trying to be all cool yesterday so I allowed the kids to order what they wanted.
Except butter on the popcorn. No extra butter.
When my son ordered his popcorn, I told the popcorn man no butter.
Do you want to know what the man did? He proceeded to tell my son that the butter was self-serve and pointed him in the direction of the saturated fat machine.
Be glad you weren’t there to witness what occurred next.
As I passive-aggressively thanked this popcorn man for going against my request, he told me that it was standard operating language (my goodness it’s like talking to a live telemarketer reading from a script) and he then tried to assure me that it wasn’t really butter anyway.
As he listed the ingredients of what the fake butter really was, I cut him off and told him that his fake butter and list of ingredients were indeed poison.
It’s probably best that you go check out what everyone else is thinking about today instead of listening to my hormonal brain ramble any further.
Last time you had terrible cramps?
If you have had a baby, did your epidural work?
Favorite movie snacks?
Favorite popcorn toppings?