Hormones...The Saga

Hormones.  Something we know so little about in our youth, except that they made us feel ridiculously sexy and invincible when we were ridiculously young, and really, probably made us act ridiculous as a result.  I say "probably" because I am not sure that I actually did the things I see all the high school girls doing in the halls of the school where I work.  I am SURE that I was the exception.  (Denial is a lovely place, if you haven't visited there lately, you should give it a try.)

The first real time that I started to notice hormonal changes occurred in my early 20s, after giving birth to Gage, my oldest son.  In my carefree youth (just a few years before), I used to find horrific things entertaining.  I believe that I actually watched a movie entitled "The Faces of Death" with my cousin Mary, and even though (if memory serves) it was a movie of actual footage of people being being killed in various grisly accidents, I remember she and I laughing maniacally while my uncle looked on in disbelief.  No, I wasn't sadistic, I didn't torture animals (insects don't count, and I hadn't done that in years), and I didn't actually want to hurt anyone or see anyone get hurt.  But for a thousand developmentally appropriate reasons, we just thought it was funny, mostly because it wasn't happening to us (egocentrism at it's finest).

Fast forward five years. (Yikes, had I known at 16 that I would be a mom at 20, I'd like to believe that I would have lived life a little differently.  But here I am again, visiting in the land of Denial.)  After delivery, the strangest thing happened; I started to choke up over things I might have previously scoffed at, or laughed at as lame.  Sad commercials (Yes, there are sad ones.)  And sad songs--oh please!  I remember the time that Eighteen Wheeler by Alabama came on the radio and I full-on started to cry.  No kidding, I had to start skipping that song whenever it came on, and (insert embarrassment here) I still do.  What had happened during pregnancy that had made me more sensitive and vulnerable, without logic or reason?  Hormones.  That's what happened.  And they weren't done with me.

I noticed the next little change when I turned 29 and I was no longer interested in sex as a recreational activity, I was interested in it as a necessary activity.  I was married to my first husband and I remember our having a conversation (that is a nice word for fight when you are in a troubled marriage) wherein I was trying to impress upon him the necessity of meeting my physical needs.  I would like to believe that it was my request for thrice weekly servicings, and his subsequent refusal, that predicated our divorce, but it wasn't.  I SHOULD have divorced him for that alone, but I didn't, turns out there were bigger issues that that.  But I was amazed at how something that had been for fun before was now becoming a need.  Why were men looking SO good?  Even (sometimes) the not so good looking ones?  Had my judgement left the house?  Did I have a new "type?"  Nope.  It was the hormones.  Again.

Now, approaching 40 (but still looking good), I had my hormones tested because (no duh) I knew that something was wrong.  Well, I knew a lot of things were wrong because I was generally in a oh-I-hope-we-don't-tonight mood, whereas just two years ago I was saying to Brian (my forever husband), "You gots to meet my needs again tonight because the Bible says so!"  While there are a number of factors outside of my control that are certainly impacting my energy level regarding extra-curricular marital activities, it also turns out my progesterone levels are the same as those of a post-menopausal woman.  What?  I don't think so.  I took a bath in topical progesterone cream when I got the results.  I won't tell you how things are going since then, 'cause that part's none of your bizness.  But really, why do hormones have to be another something for us gals to have to manage?  Aren't babies, PMS, periods, bloating, cramps, and mood swings enough?  Now we have to keep the hormones managed too, or risk being crazy, psychotic, super bitchy, or overly emotional?  Ugh.  I don't have the energy for this.  Or to manage my iPod based upon which songs will bring me to tears after having just put on my eye-make up.  Case in point:

Today, as I was getting ready for work, Seven Spanish Angels by Willie Nelson came on.  Here is a quick rundown on the lyrics, so you can mentally get yourself in the same space I was in:


He looked down into her blue eyes, and said
"Say a prayer for me."  She
Threw her arms around him, whispered
"God will keep us free."
They could hear the riders comin', he said,
"This is my last fight...If they
Take me back to Texas, they won't
Take me back alive.

There were seven Spanish angels, at the
Altar of the sun.
They were prayin' for the lovers, in the
Valley of the gun.
When the battle stopped and the smoke cleared,
There was thunder from the throne,
And seven spanish angels, took another
Angel home.


She reached down and picked the gun up,
That lay smokin in his hand.
She said, "Father please forgive me;
I can't make it without my man."
And she knew the gun was empty,
And she knew she couldn't win,
But her final prayer was answered
When the rifles fired again.

I'm curling my hair, doing my make-up, whatever, and for reals, I choked up.  I had to swallow back a sob.  Are you kidding me?  Willie Nelson in the morning and I am wiping tears away.  This has to stop.  The 17-year-old-me, who still lives in my head (thank goodness), almost yelled, out loud, "Are you effing kidding me?  Get a grip!"  (I cussed a lot when I was 17, I'm trying to clean up her/my mental mouth.  It's a process, we are making gains.)  Looks like I'll be skipping that song on the iPod now too.  Curses.

Sadly, I know for sure, that this isn't over.