If I had to made an educated guess, and by educated I mean a guess with no formal research whatsoever, I would say that every pregnant woman hits a point in their pregnancy when they step back, look at their fat face in the mirror, and contemplate if being SUCH a bitch is really necessary. In my case I can't say that it is necessary, rather, it is one of those sticky situations I get myself into that is hard to recognize until well after the tears and erratic hand motions have ceased.
I'm the sort of girl that jumps the gun in getting upset. Time has trained me to assume that no man will have a calm discussion with you and so get the first word in, because it surely will be your last. I also require a certain period of time to dissect every word I said and think, "Hmmm....did I REALLY mean that I think his dog is a stupid whore?". Usually I don't. Unfortunately I have yet to discover a way to catch my mouth before it spins out of control.
Luckily, for all of the involved, I haven't acted on my VERY STRONG desire to throw things. This is an urge I've had to resist since I was a kid; crying uncontrollably in my room, woe is me my parents hate me because I'm fat and it makes me want to KILL LITTLE BUNNIES, so instead I'm going to throw this wood bunny REALLY HARD. And when it cracks against the wall the tears just turn to emotional self mutilation....woe is me my parents hate me because I'M PSYCHOTIC AND BREAK SHIT....you get the point. Now, when I'm angry, I just think about how damn good it felt when that cute little bunny left my hand and how if I can just find the nearest *searching searching* item *searching* that I can actually pick up *searching* I can get that same satisfaction.... but I have learned a lesson or two in my life, and I remember clearly that throwing things only makes one look crazy, not in control, and usually doesn't make me feel better. As a side note I should mention that I have no desire to throw things AT someone, just in the general direction of a wall.
So, this is my public apology for being a crazy bitch.
Also, may I gently remind those that I love that it has been about 4 1/2 months, 18 weeks......or 127 & a HALF days since I've had any Tequila. Or Xanax. Not that I'm keeping track. If you love me you'll remember this next time you see me desperately searching for a cotton ball to throw while I cry and mumble obscenities concerning your dog and her whoreness. Or is that my dog?