Tales from the Diaper Bag

The Devil Wears Maternity Clothes

I have ALWAYS hated when people say that when a woman is angry/annoyed/irritated/emotional that they’re hormonal. I hate it because it belittles and invalidates what is almost always a valid emotion and it implies that women are prone to fits of insanity from which the males of our species are blessedly free. 

So it is with a heavy, heavy heart that I admit that pregnancy (and I assume the hormones that come with it) have made me. . .irritable. How irritable? Well, I think an anonymous preggo said it best on truemomconfession.com when she said “I just want to kick my husband in the head again and again and again.”

That about sums it up. I don’t really want to kick my husband in the head–I think I’d prefer to punch him in the nose–and he isn’t my only target. My road rage has taken on volcanic proportions. My ability to deal with telemarketers? Zero.  I won’t even talk about my annoyances with things at work. It’s ridiculous.

It’s not that new things irritate me that didn’t irritate me before I was pregnant–it’s that irritations that that would have made me say, “Gee, that’s annoying,” now make me want to throw a chair through a window. You know, just a subtle difference. 

For example, last week I ate dinner out with my husband and got a bag of Sour Cream and Onion Lays potato chips (yummo!). Since I’m trying to be better about how I eat, I saved the chips and lovingly placed them in our pantry for a weekend splurge.  Seriously people, I DREAMED about those chips. Sunday night rolls around and I head to the pantry for my treat and. . .no dice. Where were the chips? I turn to my husband and ask in my most calm, sweet tone “Yo–did you seriously go and eat those chips I was saving?” He then revealed the horrible truth–he didn’t eat the chips. He threw them out. THREW. THEM. OUT?!?! It was a brand new bag of chips! That I was saving! That I had dreamed about, for God’s sake! He said he did it because he thought he was getting rid of junk food in our house. He thought he was doing me a favor.

So of course, I attacked him like Cujo, ripped his still-beating heart from his body and showed it to him. Ok, it wasn’t exactly like that, but if you asked him, the experience was pretty similar. 

Was I really that upset about the chips? Days later, I am embarrassed to say it, but yes.  I’m also VERY ashamed to say that when he went to the gas station and came back with replacement chips (he really is a very sweet man to try to appease me when I’m at my most irrational) I was even MORE annoyed that he came back with Pringles.  “Pringles?”  I nearly bellowed, “They aren’t even the same texture as Lay’s. They aren’t light and airy. . they’re like eating a freakin’ cracker!” I was TICKED OFF. Over potato chips.  Just imagine if he had had done something REALLY serious–like forgotten to get the dry cleaning– I’d be blogging this from jail.

So now I’m left to contemplate my inner rage-monster and what I can do to rein it in until my due date in January. Man, I hope people are still talking to me by then.


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