PMS, Cats, and Press-On Nails

As I mentioned in my last post, my period is back — and back with a vengeance. With it, my emotions have been everywhere these last few days. Just a short list of the things I’ve cried about:

• My boobs (see previous blog entry).

• Having to pump my own gas.

• The way 9 year old Abby taught 7 month old Ashley how and why we water our plants — it was honestly one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.

• My brother flipping me off instead of hugging me goodbye. (To be fair, I probably would’ve cried if he’d actually hugged me too.)

But today’s emotional spiral? My cats.

Well, technically they aren’t my cats anymore — and to be fair, they never really were. Back in Texas, I volunteered with a trap–neuter/spay–and–release program. For the most part, I surprised myself by staying detached. We'd drop the cats back off in their colonies and feel good about helping them as much as we could.

But about two years ago, we found a bonded brother–sister pair — old enough to be fixed, but too young and timid to survive back in their huge colony. So I took them home.

And they hated me for it.

Okay, maybe “hate” is too strong. They just never learned to trust people. In two years, one of them sat on my lap exactly once — outside, on a pool chair. That didn’t stop them from leaving me little dead-mouse “gifts” on the back porch, though, which I like to think was their version of a thank-you note.

They did such a good job controlling the neighborhood mice that when our next-door neighbors found out we were moving, they actually offered to pay me to let the cats stay. I told them the plan was for Bubs’ little sister — who’s renting our house — to keep them. (What I didn’t say was that even if I’d tried to get those two in cat carriers for a 12-hour drive, I’d have been torn to shreds and swimming in cat piss by the time we got to Tucson.)

Still, this morning I woke up feeling like I’d abandoned them. I even called Bubs’ sister at six a.m. to check in. She reminded me that she liked having them around, but they hadn’t warmed up to her either. Apparently since its cooled down a bit, the neighbor built them a heated box and has been feeding them, and Addie was honestly grateful she hadn’t found a dead mouse on the porch in a while.

That should have been all the reassurance I needed — but instead, I spent most of the day crying on and off, convinced I’m a terrible cat mom.

Now, how does this story make Bubs the best husband in the world? I’m getting there.

When I got my first period and turned into a screaming hormonal banshee, my sisters and I came up with a tradition: whoever was PMSing the worst got cuddles and back scratches from the other two. It’s one of my favorite rituals — simple, comforting, and full of sisterly love.

Of course, now my sisters are 800 miles away. We can’t exactly do back scratches over FaceTime, and as this is my first period since moving to Arizona, I had a small meltdown thinking about how many more I’ll go through without Jenn and Jess nearby.

Bubs, of course, picked up on what was happening. He’s survived enough of my periods to read the signs. While he was out running errands today, he called Abby and told her to send me to bed if possible while she and TJ watched Ashley. (Thank God we’re finally at the point where they can take over for an hour here and there.)

A little while later, Abby came in and said, “Dad called. He wants you to take a nap.”
Who was I to argue?

When Bubs got home, he came into the bedroom, and to my complete shock, this wonderful man had stopped at Walgreens and bought himself the cheapest, pinkest, girliest press-on nails he could find.

And yes — he looked ridiculous.

But having him lie next to me, gently scratching my back for an hour with those plastic nails while I cried from hormones, exhaustion, and gratitude… it was pure heaven.

He didn’t try to fix anything. He didn’t offer advice. He just kept running those silly press-on nails up and down my back until the glue gave up.

It was such a small gesture, but he absolutely nailed it (pun intended). He made me feel loved, seen, and completely understood.

I am one very lucky girl.