I like to think of myself as a rational and fairly even tempered person. Sure I've had my moments of diva-ness, but nothing off the charts.
Until recently.
Pregnancy hormones have caused me to lash out in ways that in retrospect are both embarrassing and over the top. As such, they need to be shared.
Crying
All pregnant women cry. I know this to be a fact from listening to the tales of friends and family, and of course the Internet told me so. What I didn't realize, was the wide range of absolutely idiotic things that would turn me into a weeping mess of a woman. I cried when the train was late. I cried when the supermarket was out of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I cried when I lost my keys in my pocket. I could go on and on.
One of my worst tear antagonists has been the TV. Music videos, commercials and the Discovery channel have all at one point or another turned me into a puddle. But it was an episode of Glee that pushed me over the edge.
Yes, Glee.
It was the finale from the third season, the Graduation episode. The thing is, I hadn't seen any of the other episodes from that season. In fact, I only tuned in at the end of that particular show just in time for them to graduate while singing Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days. Having not invested any time or real interest in the characters or the show itself, my reaction seemed a little out of place.
Torrent of tears.
Full on sobs.
Snot flying.
Hormones in maximum overdrive.
Throwing the Mail
As previously mentioned, I consider myself to be a rational person. Even in the down and dirty depths of an argument I rarely yell, and I have never, ever thrown anything.
Until a few weeks ago.
Let me set the scene: it's a peaceful evening in the Hirano household. Shin is on the sofa relaxing while I'm cooking dinner. Dinner is nothing fancy, Thai curry with jasmine rice and salad, a meal we often eat. I was off that day so there was no stress from work and I was feeling particularly refreshed after a long afternoon nap.
Not a breeding ground for unfounded rage.
Dinner is ready to go and I start to clear stuff off the table when I come across that day's mail. The mail that Shin has carelessly tossed on the table. The mail that he has not even bothered to open. The mail that could be of extreme importance, but it's just sitting there. The mail that is standing between us and our Thai curry.
The mail that is suddenly flying across the room at my unsuspecting husband's head.
Hormones in ultra overdrive.
Attacking the Elderly
I have great respect for the aged. In fact, I am often the first to defend the actions of cantankerous elderly people; they put in the years, give them a break. It's my dream to someday be lucky enough to become a dirty old man.
Then one old bird messed with the wrong pregnant lady.
As my bump has now expanded past my boobs, my balance has been somewhat irregular. Just to be safe, I've started taking elevators rather than the stairs. My schedule is fairly regular so I see the same people getting off the train almost everyday. Most passengers drag their weary bodies up the stairs but there are a few of us that make a beeline for the elevator.
One old Betty in particular.
She's up and standing at the train doors waiting to get off a good two or three minutes before we pull into the station. From there, she races to the elevator and as soon as she gets in, starts pounding on the close-door button like her life depends on it. Countless times people, including myself, have been left in her dust waiting for the lift to come back down.
A few days ago, Granny was up to her usual tricks when she closed the door on my belly (which of course arrives everywhere before I do). Rather than let it fly and wait for the next ride up, I wrenched the door open with Hulk like ferocity and roared:
もう、あぶないよ。あなたのエレベーターじゃない!
Literally translated as: Hey! Be careful. This isn't your elevator!
Add a splash of vehemence. A drop of intimidation. A whole heaping helping of hormones, not to mention the fact that I towered over her by at least 25 centimeters, and I am sure what she heard was:
Listen you cranky old bitch, lay your finger on that button one more time and I'm going to snap it off. Don't you freakin' well know that this isn't your private elevator!?
Hormones in ultra, super-duper maximum overdrive.
Until recently.
Pregnancy hormones have caused me to lash out in ways that in retrospect are both embarrassing and over the top. As such, they need to be shared.
Crying
All pregnant women cry. I know this to be a fact from listening to the tales of friends and family, and of course the Internet told me so. What I didn't realize, was the wide range of absolutely idiotic things that would turn me into a weeping mess of a woman. I cried when the train was late. I cried when the supermarket was out of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I cried when I lost my keys in my pocket. I could go on and on.
One of my worst tear antagonists has been the TV. Music videos, commercials and the Discovery channel have all at one point or another turned me into a puddle. But it was an episode of Glee that pushed me over the edge.
Yes, Glee.
It was the finale from the third season, the Graduation episode. The thing is, I hadn't seen any of the other episodes from that season. In fact, I only tuned in at the end of that particular show just in time for them to graduate while singing Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days. Having not invested any time or real interest in the characters or the show itself, my reaction seemed a little out of place.
Torrent of tears.
Full on sobs.
Snot flying.
Hormones in maximum overdrive.
Throwing the Mail
As previously mentioned, I consider myself to be a rational person. Even in the down and dirty depths of an argument I rarely yell, and I have never, ever thrown anything.
Until a few weeks ago.
Let me set the scene: it's a peaceful evening in the Hirano household. Shin is on the sofa relaxing while I'm cooking dinner. Dinner is nothing fancy, Thai curry with jasmine rice and salad, a meal we often eat. I was off that day so there was no stress from work and I was feeling particularly refreshed after a long afternoon nap.
Not a breeding ground for unfounded rage.
Dinner is ready to go and I start to clear stuff off the table when I come across that day's mail. The mail that Shin has carelessly tossed on the table. The mail that he has not even bothered to open. The mail that could be of extreme importance, but it's just sitting there. The mail that is standing between us and our Thai curry.
The mail that is suddenly flying across the room at my unsuspecting husband's head.
Hormones in ultra overdrive.
Attacking the Elderly
I have great respect for the aged. In fact, I am often the first to defend the actions of cantankerous elderly people; they put in the years, give them a break. It's my dream to someday be lucky enough to become a dirty old man.
Then one old bird messed with the wrong pregnant lady.
As my bump has now expanded past my boobs, my balance has been somewhat irregular. Just to be safe, I've started taking elevators rather than the stairs. My schedule is fairly regular so I see the same people getting off the train almost everyday. Most passengers drag their weary bodies up the stairs but there are a few of us that make a beeline for the elevator.
One old Betty in particular.
She's up and standing at the train doors waiting to get off a good two or three minutes before we pull into the station. From there, she races to the elevator and as soon as she gets in, starts pounding on the close-door button like her life depends on it. Countless times people, including myself, have been left in her dust waiting for the lift to come back down.
A few days ago, Granny was up to her usual tricks when she closed the door on my belly (which of course arrives everywhere before I do). Rather than let it fly and wait for the next ride up, I wrenched the door open with Hulk like ferocity and roared:
もう、あぶないよ。あなたのエレベーターじゃない!
Literally translated as: Hey! Be careful. This isn't your elevator!
Add a splash of vehemence. A drop of intimidation. A whole heaping helping of hormones, not to mention the fact that I towered over her by at least 25 centimeters, and I am sure what she heard was:
Listen you cranky old bitch, lay your finger on that button one more time and I'm going to snap it off. Don't you freakin' well know that this isn't your private elevator!?
Hormones in ultra, super-duper maximum overdrive.
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