Oh holy hell, mother of all, why on earth do we torture ourselves in this way????

Anyone that knows me knows that for the first couple of days of my period, I can not move. The pain is unbearable. If I take anything for it, I'm high as a kite. Yes, even Tylenol gets me high. If I'm high, I can't work nor move. If I don't take anything for it, I can think clearly and thus be able to work but I still can't move. Well, I can, but you'll hear me screaming in agony the entire time. It's for this reason that we have Baby Bear in daycare.

Ever try to take care of a three year old when you can't get out of bed or off the couch? So yeah, we have him in daycare every day, just so that those first two to three days of my period, he is taken care of.

Now, I knew yesterday that I was going to start. The cramping, though very mild, had already started. So my next move was so stupid, that I can't believe I did it.

My daughter is a bright and bubbly young eleven year old girl. We always knew that she had inherited my love for food. The tastes, colors and textures of different foods are truly blissful. We weren't sure if she was going to inherit my genes, or her first father's genes. Now with my genes, she may wind up with a little bit of a chunk later in life, but won't be risking obesity. With her father's though, she'd have to be extremely careful with how she ate. As long as she balanced it with exercise, she'd be fine. If she didn't though, she'd blow up like a balloon.

A couple of years ago, some kids started calling her fat and she quit eating completely on me. I made her a promise that if she ever started to cross any lines, I'd step in before it got too far, and together, we'd relearn our eating and exercise habits. That was enough to make her extremely happy and ended her hunger strike.

Now fast forward back to the present. This child did nothing but eat all summer long. She ate, and sat mostly. And now we know that she inherited her father's genes. So we decide that it's time to get dear Princess Pie a bit more active. No kid at eleven years old wants to start an exercise routine, let alone start jogging. And I did promise we'd do it together.

So last night, for the first time in a long time, we went for a short jog. We only went for about half a mile, then walked home. I lasted longer than she did, which says a LOT about her physical fitness. I've been a two pack a day smoker for twenty years, and outlasted an eleven year old.

Now somewhere along the line, I heard that exercise actually helps with cramps. So here I am thinking that my cramps today won't be as bad. Yeah right! Not only am I having the usual contractions, (yes, actual contractions as though I am giving birth over here!) but my legs HURT.

I get up this morning, stand up and then fall back onto the bed. My legs were rejecting me! WTH??? It's not even my entire legs so much. My calves are perfectly happy with me, but those thighs of mine would rather I walk on my hands instead of my feet. Okay, so let's try this again. Stand up. Shooting pains through my thighs and abdomen. At this point, I'd just stay in bed, but man I had to go pee!

And it wasn't one of those "five more minutes" types of holding the pee either. It was one of those "If I don't get on the toilet right NOW, there will be a puddle beneath me" types. Stumble, shuffle, wince, stumble scream, stumble shuffle wince, stumble, try to not scare the neighbors this time. I finally make it to the door and open up...

...To discover the kids forgot to put the dogs in their cages, and left the bedroom doors and bathroom door open. There is a torn pull up all over the floor, pieces of toys and clothes strewn everywhere, and did I mention the bathroom door was open? Yay for us being smart enough to have a bathroom trash can. Boo for the puppies deciding to investigate the bathroom trash can.

Stumble, shuffle, try hard to step over the mess. Bottom of the foot gets stabbed by some broken toy. I bounce around in pain, and my other foot lands squarely on the larger piece of pull up. Great. Little Man had an accident last night. Thankfully, one of the liquid kind, but still way gross.

I am ashamed to say it took me 20 minutes just to reach the bathroom, which is a total of maybe 30 feet from my bed. Did I forget to mention that the dogs weren't in their cages? So as I'm trying to stumble shuffle and hop my way to the bathroom, all three of them are also weaving in and out of my legs, jumping on me, and doing their damnedest to knock me down onto the floor as well.

I am tortured.

Now that I am here, safely upon my couch, I have to go pee. Again. For the 500th time today. I'm now ready to just insert a catheter (sic) or at least, just sit on a nice huge bowl.

Did I also forget to mention that tonight is Open House at Big Bear's school as well? Yeah. I am tortured. *sighs*

"Have a happy period!" Kiss my ass, fall off of a cliff, Always advertising executives!

And to those damned physical trainers, and the media, that insist it is fun to be physically fit? You can follow the advertising executives off of that cliff!