Me Today; them lying hormones

This is how I feel Today:

And somehow, writing about it is going to cure me.  I need to laugh at myself - bear with me. I know of no other remedy so perfect for a funky mood. 

Little Bear is fed, changed and taking his afternoon siesta, The Mr. is sleeping after a long night at work and I am sitting here in my kitchen sipping cold coffee, wondering what to do with myself.  

I personally identify with this screaming, cleaning war dwarf. I'm convinced this is what my brothers picture when remembering me as a teenager. I am the oldest girl - I have three younger brothers - we lived on a farm with as many as three indoor dogs and up to five indoor cats. Mopping was intense. I stand by any actions I took while completing the task. 

This is how I feel - machete raised, hair aflame, spit-flying. 

I am embarrassed to admit this publicly, but I really am only now learning that how I *feel* isn't necessarily how I *am*. Seems like something you learn in day school, not during one's second pregnancy. My last pregnancy (and, honestly, this one too) was a bit of a nightmare internally because my feelings and moods and thoughts were so intense, so out of control and overwhelming it almost drove me crazy. I thought I *was* crazy.

 I live at an intensity most people can only experience while under the influence of untoward substances. I have this idea nestled inside that if my Whole Being isn't 100% - none of me is. I know this is a horrid fault to confess in front of people I have only just met - - - but it's true. If I *feel* like a raging dwarf, I must be a raging dwarf, no matter how I act or KNOW otherwise. And this brings on guilt and despair and dismay and discouragement and confusion... and every bad thing. 

Sometimes I do stupid or sinful things while channeling my war dwarf, but most of the time I just go on as I must and let the war rage on inside and unseen by anyone but me. 

Here's the truth - This is actually me today: 

I sat in the rocking chair holding my sobbing Little Bear who was in a good bit of distress for most of the morning. It was just one of those days. He was heartbroken when Dad went upstairs to go to bed. He was heartbroken when he couldn't get the book to shut. He was heartbroken when his cup was empty. He was heartbroken when my shoes wouldn't fit his tiny feet. He was heartbroken when Jane Eyre had to flee Mr. Rochester - - and he's never read that book. I tried to tell him it ends well, but he would not be consoled. He's pretty intense too... Hmmm. 

So I put my plans for the day aside and we hunkered down. I dried his little tears, we watched three episodes of A&E's Pride and Prejudice (which is second only to Baby Einstein in his affections), we talked, we cuddled, we played with his ball and his farm animal puzzle. Then I made lunch and we ate. And here I am.  

There was no screaming, no sobbing on my end, no machetes, no war. 

My adrenal glands were ready to charge into the fray, my mind was racing and tumultuous with battle plans, my entire being felt panicked and on the edge of desperation. But it was just hormones. 

Useful hormones, necessary hormones, but they lie, lie, LIE. 

And now I must go. Baby #2 is jumping on my bladder - and that's a feeling that needs to be believed and acted upon rather urgently.