Well, okay...my mama never said that. She was generally slightly bat-shit crazy, and the hormone's only magnified what was already there, so it never occurred to her to tell me that PMS is hell. This is a truth that I have made perfectly clear to my own daughter. In fact, we talk about it quite openly.
My body decided to take its own sweet baby Jesus time getting around to actually bleeding this month, but that didn't stop it from going through some pretty seriously in-depth preparations. Crying spells...check. Boobs the size of ripe watermelons...check. The need and ability to eat for 12 hours a day and sleep the other 12...check. Blood...not so much.
And Moses parted the Red Sea. And the bowels of the Earth churned. And the Advil was taken with abandon.
The saving grace of all of this is:
1) I'm not pregnant (Though if I was, I'd be on the phone to National Enquirer in a heartbeat to tell them that Jesus was coming back, but this time she chose a lesbian mom. There's gotta be some serious bank in that story.)
2) In 36ish hours, I may actually start to feel somewhat "normal" and "sane" again.
I'm pretty sure that's when the Partner is due to bleed.
Woman your battle stations, folks.