Before the weekend, I was ready to write a cheery blog post about looking at the positives to being on birth control:
I know when AF is going to arrive as opposed to wearing a pad around for a week trying to "guess" and ensure that I don't wear any of the evidence on my clothing.
I get a daily reminder from my phone that it's 8 pm and time to take my pill, meaning I also get a daily reminder of when primetime television starts.
I have an excuse to be a bitch...
But I don't want to be a bitch. And that's what I've been for the last week. If I'm not in a rage about something, I'm doing what I did last night: bawling my eyes out into a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. My tears were not to be stopped until my husband turned on Jersey Shore, because there's nothing funnier or more amusing than orange people getting drunk and making idiots of themselves. Only when the episode ended, the tears promptly started again.
My mood swings (hormones) are out of control.
Here's the thing - I have nothing to be sad or angry about. Life is good. School is going well, the weekend was wonderful, and we're made progress on picking out items for the nursery.
I should be happy.
Instead, last night I cried a lake into my husband's shirt and moaned that I don't want to live like this anymore. And despite his best efforts to comfort me and keep me sane, I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't want to live like this anymore either.