Contrary to what I was taught as a child, monsters exist. I know this for a fact because we happen to have one living in our house.
While I’ve never actually met her, I’ve heard she’s pretty scary. Irritable and moody, she snaps at everyone in her path. She’s short-tempered and easily frustrated, cries at the drop of a hat, never has anything to wear, and eats constantly (mostly chocolate, or anything salty, or sweet . . . or fattening).
The weirdest thing about this monster? She looks a lot like me.
Thankfully, she doesn’t come out too often. She tends to disappear for days, even weeks at a time without a single sighting. And then, out of the blue, every 28 days or so, she rudely barges into our home without even bothering to knock. This is just about the time I run for the hills, leaving my poor, defenseless family to fend for themselves.
And our monster doesn’t stay locked in the house when she comes for a visit either. She often goes out into the world doing errands, frightening innocent people along the way. My kids tell me she drives too fast, glares at strangers in line at the grocery store, and rolls her eyes a lot. Apparently she is cranky with her coworkers too. It’s hard for her to focus, and she just can’t seem to concentrate or get anything accomplished. She’s quite the impatient, crabby little fiend.
Back at home, our monster spends most of her time sighing at unfolded mounds of laundry, shaking her head at dirty dishes in the sink, and stomping up and down the stairs in her oversized T-shirt and elastic-waist sweatpants. After a few days of this ghastly behavior, she vanishes. Poof. As instantly as she popped in, she’s gone again, and I get to come back home (for another 28 days, give or take).
Taking Back My House
To be perfectly honest, up until recently, our little monster situation seemed like a hoax. In fact, for years (despite my husband’s insistence) I denied her existence altogether. I would even get angry at the suggestion that she was real. But that kind of denial can make a person feel a little irrational. Nutty even.
I’ve finally come to the conclusion that she does exist and will continue to rage as long as I (or my wild hormones) do. I’ve also discovered that our monster (let’s just call her “PMS” for fun) doesn’t have to rule over my home, my behavior, or my heart. And she isn’t destined to kick me out of the house every month. I don’t have to be defeated by her.