Because I'm A Lunatic, That's Why!

Do you ever do things and then wonder why you did them? Things like getting out of bed in the morning, eating an entire box of chocolates, or telling someone when she asks exactly what you really think of that outfit?

I sure do. Today it was calling up Hubby in his office (he works in an office in the back yard behind the house-- why do I feel compelled to use the phone rather than walk out there? see the title, please) to tell him in a not completely kind tone of voice to quit wearing his damn shoes in the house and thundering down the hall and waking up the Beans during naptime. Was I reasonable? No. Was I nice about it? No. Did I care at the moment? I'm sure you can guess the answer to that. What that was, you see, was a ride on the Freaky Postpartum Roller Coaster. It's a ride I get to take daily. Several times. Do I know when I'm getting on? Nope. Are there signs showing me I'm in line for it? Nuh-uh. All there is is the sudden realization that I'm at the tippy-top of a steep incline and then there's the maniacal scream rushing from my throat as I careen down the hill at a thousand miles per hour taking everyone down with me on a terrifying ride.

Is it really that bad? Well, I'm still married so I guess it could be worse. But what really gets me is that my attitude goes from happy, organized, moving right along to this:

Crushed, devastated, demolished, destroyed. With no warning whatsoever. When the horror of the ride passes and I climb off the Freaky Postpartum Roller Coaster and wonder why I did whatever I did, the only logical explanation I can come up with is, "Because I'm a lunatic, that's why!" With all the nasty things getting said to everyone else, there's no reason for me to be left out, right?

My mom's been trying to be very helpful about this. She thinks the reason for my mood swings might be menopause. This is the same woman who encouraged me to wear muumuus while freakishly, gigantically pregnant with the Beans (as if I wasn't sad enough about the state of my body, I should have made everyone who looked at me as miserable as I was). Now, I love my mom but she had to know that when the word "muumuus" escaped her mouth aimed in my general direction she was going to lose a ton of points with me on the Listen-To-What-You-Say-O-Meter (for the record, I think my response was something like, "A muumuu? Seriously, a muumuu? No! You wear a muumuu, you muumuu-head! Don't say that to me again! No muumuus!!!). And now she follows it with "menopause". I'm 32 years old. I didn't even require an amniocentesis. Menopause?

So at this point, I have to look at everything that's happened over the last year: job loss (job change, I guess, without ANY pay at all), house loss, move, birth of TWO children, 180 degree lifestyle change, Hubby's diet (please don't ask about that one yet because I'm not ready to go there)... I suppose I could cut myself some slack. Because after all, any one of those events occurring on its own would be enough to get Normal Me a little edgy. Two would probably get Normal Me into a consistently pissed off mood and three, well... I'm pretty confident that it isn't early menopause. I think it's just Normal Me adjusting to life in the Beans' lane.

And while that sounds an awful lot like a lame excuse, at least I never advised anyone to wear a muumuu. There's just no excuse for that. But if I do ever suggest it to one of my daughters and she asks why I would ever say such a thing, I just tell her-- Because I'm a lunatic, that's why! And I have the history to prove it.