I remember going to a “special” class with my Girl Scout troop and our moms. The class focused on the intimate details that, for most of us, had yet to arrive. Details like under arm hair and other…stuff. I don’t remember much of the class as I think my brain did me a solid and blocked a lot of the experience out. What I do recall is that it seemed like it took forever to get there, we sat in really uncomfortable chairs as some lady talked at us about what we would most definitely be experiencing “in the near future,” and then we took a book, What’s Happening to Me?, home to pursue at our leisure. The only thing I actually learned at the class was that my voice would get deeper. Being that I already had a deep, raspy voice, the thought of it sounding any more “manly” made me cry. For real. I bawled my eyes out right then and there. And that spawned a conversation about hormones.
Here we are, over 2 decades later, and those same hormones are still kicking my ass. It ain’t pretty. Brady pointed out the numerous zits that have made apparent permanent homes on my forehead and chin, and my mom, in a sincerely concerned tone, took me aside the other day and asked, “What is wrong with your face?” I think I’m suffering from PTWS (Pre-Traumatic Weaning Syndrome) and/or EWS (Empty Womb Syndrome) because I am a crazed lunatic these days. Ella is about to turn one and when Brady was upon that milestone, the hubby and I were set on getting pregnant again soon. And we then succeeded and all was right in the world. Now that my baby is exiting infancy and Zach and I are not having the “another baby” conversation just yet, I’m pretty sure I need medicated. I’m angry (for no reason) and then I’m sad (because I saw a sad insurance commercial) and then I’m so madly in love with my children that it brings tears to my eyes. The kids and I were watching Dirt Girl World in my bed the other day and I just sat there, snuggling with them, thinking, “This is why I’m here.” And then five seconds later Ella started screaming and Brady started whining for a snack and I wanted to transport myself back to 1999. Alas, my Traverse does not have the capacity for time travel.
In keeping with the whole idea of EWS, am I seriously stoned or what? The girl child just started sleeping through the night; the boy child has been sick in some form or another since December, and I’m sitting in the middle of an absolute mess of a house right now. I have zero time for myself, even less for my husband, and I want a third (fourth?) kid?!! I blame the hormones. Those damn hormones. If they’re going to break out my face into a pimply mess, then at least give me the kind of pubescent skin that bounces back in a day after I’ve squeezed and picked the crap out of it. Let’s at least be fair here.
One final note about my second run-in with puberty: I hear it won’t be my last. My mother, who went through menopause quite early in the life, has reminded me that this is but an interlude. The Real Deal will be upon me before I understand what’s happening. All I’m gonna say is that my face better be cleared up by then or someone will feel my wrath.