An Open Letter to My Hormones **UPDATED

Dear Hormones,

First, just let me say that you girls are doing a great job. Seriously. I know you catch a lot of flack for being out of control, raging even, but I am pretty pleased with our relationship so far.

Especially right now, with the baby and everything.

Progesterone, you have been awesome at keeping my endometrium thick and cushy for the baby, and I can't believe how well you have been maintaining the placenta. You are like the road crew for the band - the whole show would fall apart if you weren't there to set the stage. Thumbs up on that one!

And Estrogen? Well, let's just give credit where credit is due. You are one little powerhouse of a hormone, my dear. You have been responsible for overseeing all the vital growth and organ development of our newest member, and, from what modern science can tell me so far, you have done a stellar job. And suffice it to say that no one around here is complaining about my... uhhm... well-endowedness of late. My cups runneth over indeed. And how can I forget about the silky, thick hair? And the nails that I need a hacksaw to trim? Yes, I am a walking commercial for hair and nail products, and believe me, that Breck girl hair will be sorely missed after I have the baby and it all goes down the drain. Literally. That's why I am taking time to enjoy it now - gather ye rosebuds while ye may, and all that, right?

But since I am here having this little heart to heart, there are a few things that have been, how shall I put it?, less than optimal in the side effects department. Again, I'm not trying to criticize, (I totally love you girls!), I'm just saying that these are a few of my less-favorite things.

P . . . I could really do without the stuffy nose and the breathlessness. See, the stuffy nose goes a long way toward creating breathlessness on its own, so the one-two punch of nose and breathlessness really makes lugging a squirming 25 pound 15 month old sort of impossible. We both know I am only going to get bigger, so I need all the breath I can get.

And we have got to talk about the bathroom habits you have created. I need to spend both more and less time in the bathroom these days; I need less time doing one thing and more time doing another, if you catch my drift. Considering that I rarely got private bathroom privileges before I was pregnant, I am getting a little weary of all the foot traffic through des toilettes these days.

E . . . I don't want you to overreact, you know how I feel about what a great job you are doing. It's just that sometimes you seem to make me a little touchy to certain things. Like shower curtains being open instead of closed. Or the blinds on the bedroom windows being at uneven heights. Or the sound of Rob breathing at night. I think my family may suspect that I've become a werewolf, what with the howling, my changeable moods, and all that hair, but I know it's just you and me working out some kinks. I'm wishing we could catch a little break from the emotional roller coaster.

And while we're talking about breaks, let's jump right to the break-outs. You had to know I was going to bring this up, given the amount of time I spend inspecting my pores at the bathroom mirror (since I'm already in there forty times a day, right P?) I just want to let you know how disheartening it is to buy acne cream and anti-wrinkle cream, and not just because evil cosmetics corporations charge desperately wrinkly, pimply women exorbitant amounts of money for creams that don't deliver what they promise. Let me just say that at some point, after she has turned thirty, a woman kind of starts to expect that she won't have to walk around looking like a 15 year old actress wearing age makeup. She starts to pin her hopes on the clear skin of adulthood, and she may even start to look forward to using rich night creams and other things that don't make her eyes water with salicylic acid. Then, when she sees that she is still breaking out and she is past thirty and she now has little wrinkles on top of the acne, well, she might start to weep into the bathroom sink. I'm just saying.

I know I've said it before, but I know you are just doing your jobs, and I want you to do your jobs. And really, your hands are kind of tied anyway, since you are busy keeping the baby healthy, which is the most important thing to me anyway. I guess I just needed to get some things off my chest, and maybe to let you know that, as long as the baby is staying healthy and all other things being equal, I could probably do without some of the other side effects. So I'm looking forward to a future of a new baby and breathing and less bathroom time and clear skin - I know you will come through!

Love ya, girls!

Aim

**If you have ever, even once, wondered where I came from or how I got to be the way I am, then take a little detour and click on my comment box. Read the comment from Anonymous, also known as my mother, and all will become clear to you. I found this comment to be exceedingly hilarious, but maybe that's just because I know and love her. The apple doesn't fall far, my friends . . . .