about a boy

So I know I had a 50/50 chance of being right, and being right (in this case) has nothing at all to do with my intelligence or psychic abilities, but still I was delighted to get the news. I found out (via Facebook and later text message) that I was right about BB's (bipolar brother's) bun in the oven - it IS a girl. I'm actually a little sad for him, as I know he was looking forward to having a son and a namesake. (Did I mention he is BB the 3rd? Yeah, so bun was set to be the 4th... gag.) I am relieved for his girls, however, as relieved as I can be for future strippers, that they won't be subjected to the whole first born penis thing that colored my childhood. Though my husband thinks that by naming it I am perpetuating it, this gender inferiority complex, I am ignoring him because he is on his manstrual cycle.

You say you haven't noticed that men have a cycle too? Think about it. Your husband gets moody, right? Maybe even a little sullen. Certainly irritable. Sometimes downright irrational. He needs to be catered to, fed the right foods. He's tense. He doesn't want to talk about it. And then one day the fog lifts. He's had a night out, a great hike, or maybe just a nice blow job - and suddenly he's himself again. Until next time... The man cycle is not as regular as its female counterpart, but it is no less real.

My hubby's been PMSing big time since closing on his house and it is driving me crazy. Today we had the most annoying breakfast date where I stared across at a stoned faced version of my loving husband, knowing he wasn't (necessarily) seething at me, but he was seething all the same. I was hungover so I didn't try very hard to make conversation. Mostly I concentrated on coating my stomach with calories. Besides, I knew my hubby's mood was a lost cause since he'd just gotten laid the night before. If he could be simultaneously post coital and that grumpy, he was beyond repair.

Funny enough, he came home from his day (spent at the new house, of course) in a cheerful mood. He was battered and bruised and scraped and sore from trimming his overgrown tree. I pointed out that getting scraped up doesn't usually improve my mood, but he smiled and insisted that he felt much better for bleeding. (Ahem - bleeding brings an end to PMS - where have I heard that before?) Apparently his blood loss interrupted his thought pattern. (Exactly how I use alcohol...) So, yeah. My hubby is back. For now. But at this rate he could be PMSing again when he comes home from work. I'm not holding my breath.

I'm trying to avoid being an emotional sponge, but it's rough. I do have the cats around to make me bleed and redirect my thoughts. That's nice enough. But it's not enough, especially as the cats just remind me how stressful this move is going to be on all of us. So instead I spent the day trying not to notice how much stuff I still had to pack. It was irritating. I would've drank (again), but hair of the dog has never been my thing. Anyway, it didn't help that I discovered some packing casualties (already). My hubby, brain all addled by hormones, had stacked a giant heavy box on top of a stack of tiny delicate boxes, crushing the contents of the top box (my dried roses). I guess, whatever, he gave me the roses so he can crush them if he wants, but still, this stack job was completely uncalled for and illogical.

I did just finally make a bit of progress with the packing. I just wish I were less scattered. I have emptied most of my closet, most of my armoire, most of my breakables, some of my desk. I have emptied all of nothing. Oh, but I have totally filled the staging area with boxes and crates. In fact, I'm starting to worry that the 22 foot truck and its 1200 cubic feet of space will not be enough. I just wonder where all this crap came from. We lived in a studio before moving in. Somehow, nine years later, I am surrounded by stuff. I guess this explains my equally suffocating credit card debt.

Ugh. I can't even think about my debt. That almost makes me want to get back to packing. Or bed.