Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Y2 Day 13: Mutter, Mutter

Good news: My thyroid, blood sugar, and cholesterol levels, as well as my kidney functioning, get an A+. So . . . that is something.  


No, really, being fat and 50 with a diabetic mother, it is truly a miracle that I've continued to dodge the diabetes bullet — and I am grateful.

Mostly, though, I'm grouchy.

Turns out, removing an IUD sends a message to your body that you're no longer "pregnant," and my uterus is spring cleaning, trying to scrub every last bit of baby nourishment off its walls by repeatedly squeezing and unsqueezing like a ketchup bottle. And according to what I'm reading online, the whole process takes about a week, and the middle of the week is the worst. Which is today! I am crampy and clotty and disgusting. I just want to cradle my midsection and rock and keen, softly.

Instead, I worked on this week's editing job, a zippy report on suicides among American Indians and Alaska Natives. It's not well-written, and the client is a dope; I keep asking her simple, direct questions, which she routinely fails to answer. It would be entertaining if I were in a better mood.

Then tonight I had to miss zumba to attend a parent orientation at Mimosa's high school; I knew something was up when we had no trouble finding a parking spot and were the first ones there. This was the world's most (1) unnecessary, (2) pointless, and (3) boring meeting; Husband and I kept staring at each other in disbelief. My question is: How did everyone else know???? What signs did I miss???

Ugh. Ouch. Grouchy.

Time for a hot hot shower and then bed. I don't have a cold, I don't think, but my nose is running like Flo-Jo, it's the weirdest thing. Extra sleep will cure what ails me.

(I haven't reported on this, mostly because I forget, but I've been very good about not falling asleep to TV. I read my book till I get sleepy and generally turn my light off around 11. However, I can't say that I've noticed any difference in my metabolism! September's an exhausting month, though; it always takes a few weeks to catch my breath and get used to the new rhythm, and I'm definitely not there yet.)


—Lady C

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