It started at around 4pm yesterday.

The same cluster of legos that I had been working around on the kitchen island as Leo and I happily, and messily made pesto went from a sign of my kids collaboration (Oliver built, while Leo fetched pieces and cheered him on) to a direct act of aggression against me. Move those freaking legos right now. (or some close alternative echoed in my head.)

  • symptom 1: rage at persecution

Waking up this morning I heard teeny tiny chirping noises. So close it felt as though the bird’s nest was in my room. My first thought was not about new life, but about the birds that had flown into our glass door and received a watery funeral courtesy of Lake Champlain about 3 weeks ago. I became instantly convinced that that dead bird was the babies mother. I imagined their hatching and first glimpse of the world, and that their chirps were calls unanswered. I thought I could hear them growing weaker with starvation.

  • symptom 2: viewing the world as a sad, sad place.

Both boys in bed with me now, one silently snuggling the other pattering. This is the coziest bed. You are the best brudder. I love my mama so much. Aw, look at our emmy kitten. I love Emmy. Oh, Emmy wants to say hello mama. Overflowing with love he is. Do I appreciate it? No, I want it to STOP RIGHT NOW.

  • symptom 3: inability to tolerate ANYTHING

Next up: “Can we go today to buy the new video game as a surprise for J (a friend visiting later this week)” “Let me think about it when we take a look at the whole day.” (pretty good response compared to what is flying around in my head.) “But J is coming tomorrow.” “J is coming Thursday- that’s in two days.” “No, tomorrow is Thursday.” “No, Tomorrow is Wednesday, the day after is Thursday.” “No mama, you are just confused, missing up your days- tomorrow is Thursday.”

  • symptom 4: Delight in getting in pointless arguments with a 6 year old. (Did you think I was going to say confusion over dates. Because I was NOT. TOMORROW IS WEDNESDAY.)

So that drives me out of the coziest bed ever. I tend to various pets without incident. As I pass the deck I see the furniture cushions out in the pouring rain. This one is multiple choice:

  1. Oh look, the cushions are getting wet.
  2. Crap, I forgot the cushions again. I am incapable of doing anything correctly. Why am I allowed to take care of anything at all , let alone living four legged things, and growing two legged things. Its as if the cushions are drowning like the baby birds as they chirp fruitlessly for their mother.
  3. Why am I the only one to deal with the cushions. I’m not the only one to sit on the cushion, and wait. Today is Tuesday. I bet we forgot the garbage, recycling, and milkman too. We are all inept.
  4. all of the above.

Did you get it? It was a trick question. The answer was 2 and 3. I skipped over the wetness right to the blame.

  • symptom 5: self blame oddly twisted together with self righteousness and a huge dash of scope creep.

I’ll stop there. I mean, it is 8:30 am on a TUESDAY and I could probably go on for freaking ever. Or at least until next week. But you get the point. And I feel a little better. Because venting always helps.

p.s. I would tell you that all of this hormonal angst goes hand in hand with our amazing bodies and my capacity to create my incredible boys…but I can’t this week. Ask me again next week.

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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.