Last year, we celebrated Mother's Day with family. We spent the weekend with Tyler's parents and then saw my parents at my brothers' place in Chicago. On the car ride to Chicago, Tyler and I bickered over little things- Mother's Day gifts, where Tye would nap, details too small to remember. I do, however, remember apologizing to him and blaming my mood on by far the worst PMS of my life.
That night, we arrived home in Chicago to find hundreds of ants had emerged from the floorboards and were gathering crumbs off Tye's bedroom floor. I furiously vacuumed them up and applied every possible natural repellant to the floorboards to keep the insects at bay. I was livid- these ants weren't just pests, but intruders- parasites, even.
Then it hit me- that cleaning spree felt familiar. Intense. Hormonal. And my period, which had been as dependable as clockwork since it returned, hadn't yet arrived. The rest, as they say, is history.
This year, I got to celebrate with my two girls.
Life is good.