Raging

As a pre-teen, a lot gets blamed on hormones. A sudden mood swing, the slightest sign of forgetfulness, a bad game, poor grade, and that unexplained temper tantrum all can be chalked up to a case of raging hormones; that time of the month; and three letters: P. M. S.

The thing is, I feel like I never had the typical chemical swell of most junior high students. Either I had enough optimism and energy to combat my hormonal cadences or I just never experienced the dramatic variability like others. However, I did pay attention as my friends used their hormones as the ultimate alibi: to miss a day of school, grant themselves license to offend, or justify a weight gain. There was likely no veracity to my claims, but I embraced the catch-all excuse with everyone else. Nah, it wasn't the Entenmann's Crumb Top donuts, I'm just bloated. You know; that time of the month.

It was only recently that I had my big hormonal aha! moment. The pregnancy, labor, delivery and postpartum corridor hit me like a chemical tornado of mood-altering, head-aching, body-shaking, sweat-producing, cramp-causing, milk-dripping, eye-leaking, sentiment-sapping shock. So this is what those cursed hormones can do.

As an unscientific student, far more concerned with the artistic representation of the cell,  human anatomy, or periodic table than the actual information contained within each of my science projects, the biology and chemistry that my body is going through is Greek to me. I get the gist of things, but the nitty gritty - who knows.

From what the doctors and nurses told me, something called oxytocin made the hours of 9 PM and 7:20 AM 11 days ago miserable; it produced involuntary, uncontrollable tremors, painful contractions, and buckets of sweat. It was some combination of adrenaline and endorphins that helped me expel a baby from my body. The ebbs and flows of estrogen have made my tear ducts quite prolific. And perhaps the combination of all four of these chemical reactions has led to jolts of anxiety, a stomach that won't settle, and several female moments.

Finally, I can pin the unexplainable aberrations on the ultimate culprit: hormones. So a couple nights ago, during one of those female moments that happened to turn tearful, I did just that. The interrupted sleep had caught up with me. Another long day under house arrest had enhanced the exhaustion. Eating dinner with one hand and just a fork had proven difficult. A wail broke our conversation, the smell of honey mustard chicken sparked the hunger of someone else, and just like that I let the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' rule slide. As a gentle tear dropped on Mary's head I told my dining partners, 'Our dinners will never be the same. Daddy and I will never be the same.'   

Peter smiled at me and said, 'Oh. But that's just because I love you more than ever.'

One small tear led to several more heavier, wetter ones. I looked down at my beautiful little girl, so satisfied in her sucking, then at my husband who was looking at me like I was the mother of the year, and realized how silly and unlike me I sounded. Darn hormones. 

But in retrospect, I have to say there was truth in the statement. Having a baby does change everything. The routine that you clung to for comfort, the extensive to do list, your pace, your priorities, your relationships, your quiet dinners for two. They all change. But so far I have found, even through a couple tears, that the changes are for the best. Given the heightened sense of accomplishment, love, gratitude, and peace that I feel at the end of each day, there is no doubt that the addition of Mary, whimpers, wails, blow outs, epic feedings, and all, makes our little team stronger than ever.

Lo.