Week 8: Blame it on the hormones!

In the midst of one of my "unfortunately timed emotional outbursts" as we have taken to calling weepy time, G made a very good point. He said that I have never really been very good at surfing the hormone wave. He pointed out that when I was on hormonal BC I was sort of a mess which reminded me of puberty, the start of ALL of this. When I was but a wee teenager I would occasionally have these crying jags where all of the sudden, a perfectly lovely afternoon would morph into the end of the world. I would cry and make blanket over generalizations or jump to large and dramatic conclusions about how since I couldn't go to the Alanis Morissette concert "like every single one of my other friends" (or 2 of them...) I was going to become a social pariah and die alone with cats. Or later on in my university years, because mom had expressed concern that it seemed like I was spending more time socializing than studying she was actually the antichrist who never loved me at all and just thought I was a flakey moron with no real future. I was volatile. Back in the days of my "care free youth" my poor father bore the brunt of these hormonal sieges on my rational mind. He says he could always tell when I was about to start my period because I would just loose the plot completely and come to him with some ridiculous crisis or argument that I was in the clutches of. He said it was like clockwork. I would call one night all destroyed and crying so hard I was hiccuping, then a day or two later, I would call again and tell him that "the sun had actually come up" and nothing had been as bad as I had thought after all. This went on for YEARS! Like twelve years. He would listen, if it seemed appropriate (or if he just couldn't hold his tongue any longer) he would offer some gentle advice, he would tell me he was sorry and it sounded hard. Then he would kinda just wait it out with me. When the hormones cooled off again (Progesterone you were a bitch back then and you still rule to torture dungeon!) he would happily join me in my relief that the world had not in fact ended as I had been SO certain it would. He was kinda the perfect man. He never pointed out that I was in the clutches of hormones. Very occasionally and only under the most dire of situations, would he ever even suggest that I was likely just very tired and ought to sleep on the whole thing and try again in the morning. Even though this monthly madness seemed to take me by total surprise every time. I would freak...three days later I would sheepishly admit that I had been exhausted AND I had started my period. He would just laugh a gentle chuckle and say "Hmmm, that would make things harder". He was just there. In his office, in the kitchen, at the other end of the phone. Always unconditionally listening and offering love in return for my pure driven insanity.

When I met The Hubbs (well, after I stopped trying to break up with him for being "too good") I am sure my Dad noticed that my crazy burden was being steadily lifted from his shoulders and I am sure he thought, at least once, "poor bastard. She's his problem now". And he is right. For a while it was quite calm on the Western front. I had been on very low dose hormonal birth control when I was on the NuvaRing but it had its issues and I was really certain I did not want to get pregnant for at least the next 5 years so I opted for an IUD with very low dose intrauterine hormones. Well, for the first year and a half it was bliss. No periods, few mood swings. In fact, and the boys may correct me but this is my blog so na-nah, the bulk of my crazy was reduced to the days when I was just super duper exhausted (which sadly describes almost a third of the time I was in paramedic school and wedding planning and ALL of our time spent house buying and moving). I was very happy with the Mirena for 2 years. Hindsight being 20/20 I now realize that the hormones were subtly troublesome. I was slowing losing any desire at all to have sex. I could have just as easily read my book or watched Millionaire Matchmaker. It wasn't that I couldn't have fun....I was just pretty indifferent about it in general. It wasn't until the wedding, moving, unemployment, new job starting dust settled that I finally called uncle and went to see the Midwife about it. She pointed out that many things could be responsible but agreed that getting off of synthetic hormones was probably a fine idea if we were looking at getting pregnant sometime in the next 1-2 years. But she also told me not to expect any miracles. Well.... yeah, lets just say that I was totally right about this. So, once off of synthetic hormones I was left to my own devices and hormones. Again, I found myself at the mercy of progesterone once a month but I took every opportunity to pat myself on the back and point out that it was "nowhere NEAR as bad as it had been 8 or 10 years ago". The Hubbs was a trooper and we made it through my 24hr lapses in sanity without any major strife. He seemed to be just like my Dad in that respect. He didn't try to fix things he just listened and knew (before I did most of the friggen time) that this was just the hormones talking and I would be myself once the full moon set and the sun came up vanquishing my fir and werewolf ears.

Smash cut to pregnancy week 8.5. The starfish is the size of a "large red grape", I am persistently nauseated and crying in the shower about how awful I feel and how it is even worse because I feel awful about feeling awful and I feel guilty about wishing I felt like myself because this is supposed to be a beautiful magical process and I should be grateful to even have the chance to feel this awful. What does G do? He turns up the water to what is soothing for me though waay to hot for his comfort, rubs my back and kisses my head. He says "Hush sweety. It's going to be ok. It's going to get better. You are doing really well. I am so proud of you. It's going to be ok." And I believe him. He continues "This is just the hormones beating you up. This isn't really you. It only seems hard because you can't think clearly. You are doing so well. I love you so much". And if only for a second, I feel totally and completely heard. I catch my breath between sobs and say "this is so stupid. This isn't me and I hate feeling so crazy for no reason". He just says "It's all gonna be ok".

I didn't see my Dad in G when we met. I had moments where I was determined to find someone who would not be like my Dad so that I wouldn't be tempted to fall into the bad habits that are possible when you are with someone who loves you that unconditionally. That was stupid. G is all of the very best things that exist in my Dad. He is kind, he is a fucking awesome listener. He knows when to fix and when to just say "that sounds so hard". He knows crazy from a mile out and doesn't feel the need to rub it in my face. But above and beyond all of that he just loves me. He loves me for the great things about me and in spite of the rough spots. He is as unconditional as the air I breathe. He is an amazing partner and he is going to be an amazing Dad.