Prepubescent Son + Perimenopausal Mom= Someone Will End Up Crying Every Time

Okay—so I have a degree in microbiology.  Based on this degree title, you can guess that I had to take a lot of anatomy and physiology classes.  I want my money back from UAH.  I didn’t learn one single thing in all of those classes that prepared me for a 9-year-old boy going through the beginning mood swings of puberty.  I thought boys matured slower than girls.  I thought I had time.  I thought he would start sprouting hair in unfortunate places and become a stinky boy before I had to deal with mood swings.  Well, if you thought that too, then we’re both wrong. 

My beautiful 8 lb 5 oz baby boy who came into this world after 21 hours of labor (2.5 hours of pushing—I want credit for pushing out that enormous head) has morphed into a moody, short-tempered man-child.   Where is the toddler who always said, “Mommy, you’re my bestest friend”?  Oh that’s right—now he’s the kid who slams his door and mutters under his breath when he is reprimanded for something.  He’s now the kid who cries at the drop of a hat or a minor change in plans.  He’s the kid who sobs on the refrigerator door because making two different kinds of sandwiches is “backbreaking work”. 

When you combine his mood swings and my mood swings, you have the recipe for a disaster.  I don’t know how we are going to make it through the next few years.  I can only hope that he and I survive this and come out the other side before my little girl goes through puberty.  If there are 3 crazies in the house, MB may just not come home from work one day;).

Sex Gives My Doctor The Willies

Or maybe I should rephrase that…. Talking  about sex makes my gynecologist uncomfortable.  First, I love my doctor.  She is my age (a very young 35), very knowledgeable, compassionate, and thorough.  She does have one flaw.  She is a doctor who deals almost exclusively with the hoohah and talking about sex makes her very uncomfortable.  I didn’t ask any questions about small animals or which sex toys she recommends.  We were discussing my impending uterine eviction and all that would entail.  She explained that I would be having a total hysterectomy meaning that my cervix will be removed, too.  Based on my knowledge of human anatomy and a lot of 1am Google research, I was nervous hearing this.  I wanted some reassurance that this wouldn’t negatively impact my sex life.  Close your eyes, Mom, we’re going to talk about hoohahs and weenies. 

I asked Dr. P how losing my cervix would affect my post-surgery sex life.  I haven’t seen someone that nervous since I asked my mom where babies come from when I was in the 4^th grade.  God bless Dr. P --she began fidgeting with her computer and shifting in her seat.  She wouldn’t look me directly in the eye.  Didn’t she take some classes on this stuff in medical school?  I used medical terminology.  I even used the words “intercourse” and “post-coital”.  She was sweating and drinking water.  I was worried for her health if I continued my line of questioning.   She gave me a few roundabout answers including, “Well, it’s different for everyone” and “It’s really difficult to know those things ahead of time”.  Not selling the finer points of this surgery, Dr. P.  Finally, I let her off the hook and decided to continue my own research.   I also enlisted the husband’s help in some field research.  Ewww—not outside.  There are bugs and dirt out there;).  

Magic Mike Makes Me Cry Too

So… my sister wanted to go see Magic Mike and we planned our girls’ day to go see it.  All was well with the world as we waited with the throngs of overly excited women filling the theater.  As the previews started, I burst into tears and began sobbing about something which shall forever go unexplained.  I, who share shamelessly, won’t give you all of the mystifyingly irrational details of this breakdown.  Let’s just say I misunderstood something because my phone’s internet connection inside the theater sucked.  I cried for several minutes, sniffling and babbling incoherently.  All the while, wanton females were shoving popcorn in their mouths in anticipation of seeing man booties.  My sister who knows me pretty well was at a loss as to how to deal with weepy sitting next to her.  First, she handed me tissues.  Then she asked if I needed popcorn or chocolate.  When neither of these tactics worked, she tried to console me which was very awkward for both of us.  While we love each other deeply, my sister and I do not have a huggy, say “I love you” kind of relationship.  This is most likely due to my overwhelming dislike of hugs.  So… girding herself for what was to come, she put her arm around my shoulders and said something akin to “there, there”.  Holy awkward, Batman!  She said, “I know you hate hugs but I just don’t know what else to do.”  I am pretty sure she was desperate to stop the weeping because I was harshing the Magic Mike mood of the ladies (and one 70+ gentleman) around us. 

Well, eventually the webpage I was trying to see loaded completely on my phone, and I was able to see that I had clearly overreacted.  I sniffled again, dried my eyes, wiped my nose, and enjoyed some Magic Mike right alongside every other woman in the KC metro area.