I’m alone in the kitchen, making lunch.

My face is sporting the expression commonly referred to as: Resting Bitch Face. Although, mine isn’t really resting; my forehead is in on the action, too. I am all scrunched up, like a pug. A confrontational (or perhaps constipated) pug.

In the distance I can hear them. They’re calling my names:

“BABE!”

“MOMMY!”

“MOOOOOOOOM!”

My face is speaking what my mouth isn’t saying although, I’m not sure what my problem is. What the hell is up my ass, anyway? And, what’s wrong with my face?

Ahhhhhhh. It dawns on me. And with a quick feel, I’m relieved to discover that, yes, my boobs are in fact sore. I exhale with relief as my sneer turns into a half-assed smirk. I’m very pleased to know that my irritability is due to hormones which means my desire to flee, will soon pass.

This is good news. Very good news, indeed.

I’ll just ride out the next few days. I’ll aim not to ruffle or to get ruffled. And before I know it, I’ll get my joy back!

In the meantime, I’m confident that the agitated beast, within, can be kept at bay. As long as I remember she’s in there and I don’t get caught off guard. (This is the challenge.)

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

It’s only for a few days… But, I have to say, this inner bitch really is relentless. She’s completely kicked my sense of humour to the curb and morphed me into a crone-like version of myself. She does this at the same time. Every month.

So, as to not hinder the happiness of my family members, I will do my best to avoid lashing out.

Just. Lay. Low. This will be my goal.

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

Why do they insist on shouting from across the house?!

If I can just keep my moods bubbling here under the surface, that would be best. My family shouldn’t have to suffer, right? As long as they don’t leave excessive messes around for me to clean, we’ll be good!

Lunches are made and now … off to shift the laundry. Grrrrrrrrrr. Who left a Kleenex in their pocket?!

Yes, my irritation will linger and poke and prod (unbeknownst to the rest of them) if everyone could just….. I really fucking hate Kleenex!

But, as I was saying: it’s only for a few days so I’m going to do my best to tame this inner….

“MOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

“MOM!”

“I said MOM, first!”

Little feet are stampeding their way down the stairs. They’re coming for me! And they’re bickering. I’ve got Kleenex mixed into all my darks and CLINK I just heard my husband leave his dirty bowl on the counter….

“MOOOOOOOOM! She hit me!”

Maybe we should leave town, my inner bitch and I.

Just for a few days…

*Fills a bag with tampons, chocolate, and sweatpants. Sneaks out side door*