Yay: I am going to divorce H and marry Naproxen Sodium. I heart it this much. Those of you who have been casting your benevolent eyes over this blog for any length of time will know that I have PAINFUL periods. P. A. I. N. F. U. L. All done by the one small uterus, without the aid of endometriosis, fibroids, or its very own meat-grinder. Said uterus laughs in the face of paracetamol, sneers at ibuprofen, never even notices aspirin is in the building, and grudgingly shuts up for an hour or so when bludgeoned with codeine. Big, prescription only post-surgery doses of codeine. On Naproxen? She goes quiet. For hours and hours. There was a bad bit yesterday evening when she wore off before I could get another dose, which very nearly led to me thumping H for sensibly saying ‘it’s only for another hour or so,’ and then I got my dose, and within 40 minutes I was all, like, bliss, man. Rainbows. And unicorns.
Boo: The bleeding is ridiculous. Survived yesterday at work changing super plus extra tampons every two to three hours. Today, Ute ups the ante and decides, unilaterally, that I want all my blood on the outside, and the super plus extra (can absorb 15 to 18 g!) tampons are caving in less than an hour. For fuck’s sake. I had the day off work. H and I were going to go to museums and things. Ah ha ha ha.
Yay: About yesterday, which was our wedding anniversary, the dinner at the fancy-pants restaurant was marvellous, and the food was unnaturally fabulous, and I had a glass of wine, and talked incessantly about meta-data and H let me. Cute Ute decided to have a crampy hissy fit during dessert, and then I had to haul her home on foot (normally not a problem, and a nice walk), and like I said above, nearly whacked H at one point, but even she failed to spoil the evening. So there.
Boo: Yeah, but I couldn’t finish my dessert, which was creme brulée, which I love, and which this restaurant does SUPERBLY oh God drool dribble mmmmmmmmm, and that I had been looking forward to for weeks, solely because bad cramps invariably make me feel a little sick.
Yay Yay Yay: H and I have been married for 4 years, and have been an item for 17 years, and I still adore him, and he still seems to adore me, bless his heart (and he is being extremely sweet about the non-museum-visiting, and has promised to go post the Mother’s Day cards and do the shopping while I lay at home in a heap, and also he gave me a new and very pretty gold chain for my grandmother’s opal pendant (the old chain was getting manky and revealing it’s less-than-gold nature rather badly)). And H is handsome and smells nice and is funny and gentle and almost terminally good-natured and generous, and all my family adore him nearly as much as I do, and (SF&F geek bonus) he looks like a Rider of Rohan. (But I still might have to turf him out for the Nap, which rocks).