I know, I know...I bemoan the whole menstrual thing, and I do think that whole end of the deal sucks. But I really and truly will miss this honeymoon phase of the cycle.
I can read my body like a book. A very worn, dog-eared, stained up book, but a book nonetheless. When Big Daddy and I were in the family-building business, and it was baby-making time? I'd simply do some math, find the date on the calendar and write down "make baby". Seriously.
Now, here's my disclaimer: I no longer keep track of things like I should. My friends who are on the same cycle will testify that they get monthly texts from me asking, "Is the tick about to pop? Because I feel like I could cut a bitch today." And yes, men who are reading...we ladies do talk about this stuff. I also now know for a fact that God has a sense of humor, because my daughter and I are on the exact same cycle...TO THE DAY. You gotta feel some sympathy for the poor boys in this house. There are about three days per month when the mancave is a very crowded, very popular place.
But back to the ovulating: that's the fun phase. The few days of the month where life is so freaking AWESOME, where I don't see a plate and fork left on the floor of the living room like a direct insult, where I am 100% certain that everything will be just FINE.
My hibernating libido wakes up during these couple of days, which, when you are oh-so-single like me, isn't always a positive but hey, it's nice to know there's still life in that area. And it certainly makes dream time more fun. Last night I dreamed about two things: wearing my long down coat in the snow, and making whoopie with Ray Romano (I fell asleep while watching Everybody Loves Raymond, ok? Give me a break.)(at least it wasn't Kevin James..he was in the episode that was on...shudder).
Women's bodies are wired to be pregnant, to procreate, to keep the human race going. It's so animalistic, so primal. If you take some time to really get in touch with that somewhat annoying biological clock, it's actually pretty cool.
We are wired to mate during ovulation. It's like nature slipping us some rose-colored glasses and a hit of ecstasy. Today, I was in the kitchen measuring out salad dressing (I have started Weight Watchers...hooo boy you know I'll be boring you to tears with that tale in a day or two) and hand to God I felt like singing. I felt like Snow White in that scene where she's out in the forest and all the little woodland creatures are gathering 'round, chirping and smiling and hopping on her shoulders.
She is TOTALLY ovulating
Sadly, my days of having these fabulous little egg-releasing-highs are numbered. I'm going to be 46 this year, in just a few months, and I'm already becoming acquainted with that a-hole Perry Menopause. I've heard about the menopause stuff, and although I'm actually ok with most of it (especially the thought of never again having to wheel around Target with a box of Kotex Super Plus in my cart for the whole world to see) it really does make me sad to think that these happy little breaks will be a thing of the past.
Didn't think I could write a whole post about ovulating? Neither did I. Now go check your calendars, ladies.
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Well.
As you have probably guessed- and possibly have witnessed- I get extra Rainman-ish during "that time".
Except it's not the sweet Rainman, gently rocking back and forth while he records stuff in his notebook (Alex, and any other of my trivia friends, if you're reading this...holla!).
It's the Rainman that blows a freaking gasket when Tom Cruise runs the bath water.
Except in my case it's because someone didn't pick up a dirty pair of socks, or left one too many empty wrappers behind the couch.
I think it's hilarious that we are now on the same cycle. It was inevitable.