Rhymes with Bormonal

I have now finally reached the point of the pregnancy where my hormones control my life. Today has been a prime example, as I felt frustrated, on the verge of tears, hungry, not at all hungry, and like I could punch a full grown man.

Case in point: grocery shopping.

Before heading to the gym, I needed to make a grocery store run. And I was tired. After personifying the abusive heat outside, just so I could call it names, I made my way into Fry's Marketplace, because we don't have a Sprouts, Trader Joe's OR Whole Foods near the house (hormones still wearing off, I guess). Shuffling down the aisles, I loaded up my cart with the enthusiasm of a disgruntled toll booth worker. Thoughts: "Ugh. It is so bright in here."; "Ugh. Michael McDonald music."; "Ugh. People."  The first hormonal tidalwave came as I noticed a man pushing his cart down my aisle, in the same direction and almost parallel to my speed. OH. MY. GOD. These people are like flypaper. I wanted to snap at the guy for his audacity and disregard for personal space. So naturally, I sped up then abruptly slowed down my cart speed, just to break his bad habit and really show him what's up. And God help the woman who was later staring me down from across produce. Ok, so she was most likely looking PAST me to check out the 2 for 1 special on Rice Krispies, but that's beside the point. I felt like a hunk of pregnant underneath an overly-bright, crowded, sweaty circus tent, with Michael McDonald as the ring master.

Breathe deep, Heidi, and pick a checkout lane. That's it. As I negotiated the crowds and attempted to stake my claim at the end of a good line, I see that every option I have is behind someone who is clearly preparing for armageddon. Thoughts: "Really. 12 bottles of cranberry juice. Either you are obsessed, or you have bigger problems and ouch, good luck to you"; "Really. You NEED all of those chicken wings."; "Really. Dayquil? Really. REALLY."

It was at this point that I realized I was veering into the left lane of crazytown. Choking up, I grabbed my cell and called Josh to bring me back.
"Hi, honey."
"(sniff sniff) Hi baby."
"What's the matter?"
"Are you patronizing me? It sounds like you are."
"No sweetheart, I'm just being calm for you. Now what's wrong?"

Like always, his words of support and a little bit of normalization did the trick. "It's just the hormones, baby" is still dancing in my ears. Thank you, sweetheart.

Now don't look at me.