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Like all of you, I'm a number of things to a number of people...Navy wife, homeschooling mama, educated woman and aspiring writer. Read my thoughts on all of it here. Please feel free to leave your thoughts on all of it too!

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Poor Bees

So, I'm 31 years old and I just figured out (last night) that the birds and the bees are women and men. I'm pretty slow to catch on sometimes. I mean, I knew the cute little phrase referred to s-e-x, but hadn't connected it specifically to boys and girls.

This awakening on my part came while I was thinking about my menstrual cycle. (This is where you might want to stop reading, but I promise not to be gross or anything, so there's really no reason to abandon me now.) See, my mom talked to me very briefly about my period, saying it was my body's way of making a nest to prepare for an egg. When no egg is left, then the nest is taken down. She didn't do a bad job explaining the reason for having a monthly cycle. However, at the time, I didn't get it. Now I do...I'm the mama bird.

If you think about it, there are other aviary references to women in our world. When we talk a lot some people say our chatter is chirping. When we nag or pester, we might be picking or pecking. It's called nesting to arrange your home for baby's arrival. And when the kids eventually leave home we are left with an empty nest. We're totally birds!

So, if we're the birds, must be the men in our lives are bees. I couldn't come up with as much to support this other than the obvious 'stinger' reference and that sometimes we want to swat at them. But they must be the bees, right?

Let me go back to mom's explanation for a second...she did a good job of explaining why I'd have a visit from Mother Nature every so often, but she didn't touch on what I might be dealing with during this visit, that Mother Nature might overstay her welcome, or the side effects for the bees in my life. (...not to mention my little monkeys now. What a zoo!) It was those very side effects that got me ruminating on this subject in the first place.

I was telling Scott that I didn't remember being quite so emotional and grumpy during my ovulation window in the past. Granted, I've been pregnant or nursing for a good part of the last seven years, so these not-so-pleasant memories may have faded. But I just don't think I had to try quite so hard to be good company all month long. Because really, let's be honest...my period may last just a week out of the month, but approximately 14 days before that joyous phase started I ovulated. Now sometimes ovulation takes place without notice. But lately I think I've been feeling the release of my eggs, loud and clear. Is 'release' really the right word? It sounds so nice, as if the ovary open the door and sets the egg free. Let me go on record as saying 'tug-of-war' might be a more appropriate description. I don't know whether the egg isn't keen on the idea of being let go or if the ovary gets cold feet, but there's definitely some tugging and pulling that doesn't make me feel all cheery and lovable. It was all this that I was explaining to my tolerant husband.

He told me he hadn't really noticed that I was all that miserable, maybe just a little grumpy.

I told him, "I must me doing a decent job of hiding it, then. Because I feel like my patience level is almost gone the past few days. Like, if we're talking on a scale of one to ten I'm at point zero zero something."

To which he said, "Then let's talk a scale of one to 100, so you can at least use whole numbers."
He's so understanding and wonderful! I really did appreciate that he was trying to help me feel not quite so awful.

This interaction lead to a conversation about how guys really do have it tough sometimes. I mean most of the time, they're just big babies, but sometimes they can't get it right, but it's not for lack of trying. Ninety-eight percent of the time a little caress relaxes me, leaves me feeling cared for and loved, and might even get me thinking about snuggling up closer. But every so often, a little pat or touch or kiss will make me tense up, sigh (not the contented kind, but the fed-up kind), and possibly bite. OK, so I've never bitten Scott for cuddling with me. He's lucky I have a little self control.

Luckily, Scott and I are able to talk, openly and freely, about such things as my grumpiness and the fact that while I'm feeling like a schmuck he has to try ten times harder to even get me to smile. But many a man is left hanging with a woman who tells him he should know why she's upset as she stomps away. Those poor bees.

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