While the roller coaster ride has been a blast, I'm quite ready (as are all the people living with me) for you to un-invade my body. Granted, the reason you are here is awfully cute....
I think our time together must come to an end.
The piles (and I do mean piles) of hair that are lining my shower walls and clogging the drain were expected, as were the crying fits that hit me like a ton of bricks over matters such as Bert eating the last slice of left-over pizza; however, the expectations have been met, so it's now time to move on.
Having a face that looks like a 15 year old boy with acne was not an expectation. This little gift you decided to bestow upon me for the first time after four other battles, I mean, flings with you, has just been the icing on top of my crazy cake. I'm shocked a Proactiv scout hasn't stopped me on the street and begged me to try their product and become their latest sob story on an infomercial that airs at 2am. While the acne and the tiny hairs are both rights of passage for a 15 year old BOY, they simply are not for a 29 year old Mother of five.
The gray hairs that are sprouting on top of my head may not be fully your responsibility, but I will blame you for my lack of clear judgement when I decided to lose my hair virginity and dye it for the first time ever. Yes, I spent a solid hour trying to do everything just right, and cover all of those annoying little reminders that my life and my body are all plotting against me. One whole hour only to discover that I obviously have no clue when it comes to dying hair since after all the work was completed, my hair was EXACTLY the same color, grays and all. I'll be leaving the coloring to the professionals in the future.
Blaming you for eating entire boxes of Thin Mints was fun at first, I will admit, but the 6 lb weight gain over the last few weeks totally stinks. The fact that I have a three month old and I'm still wearing maternity jeans is starting to depress me... no wait, that's you too.
And, what's up with the night sweats??? You can clearly see I'm already waaay behind on the laundry. Adding two extra pj shirts (per night, mind you) to the pile is not helping me get caught up. And speaking of sweats, forcing me to change deodorants twice in the same month to find one that still works is just plain wrong. Though I do appreciate you helping me to find my new favorite scent, Sweet Pea & Violet by Suave.
I know when I'm screaming at my dear husband, (who truly believes I have lost my mind) I should be screaming at you, Post-partum Hormones. But then my poor husband would have me committed, as he probably should anyway. Just know that when I'm throwing a hissy fit over serious matters such as forgetting to run by the pharmacy, even though I clearly told him that I would do it while I was out running errands, that I'm screaming at you, not him.
Look, it's not you... it's me. We gave it a good run, and these past three months have been unforgettable. But, it's time for you to move out. There is someone else out there who will be a much better match for you. I'm giving you two weeks to get all your crap out, then I'm taking matters into my own hands. I may even start exercising again. Stop laughing. I am too capable of having the body I once took for granted. Okay, so maybe I'll never have that body again, but maybe close to it.
Goodbye, Post-partum Hormones. I wish you and your next victim, I mean, partner all the luck in the world. She's gonna need it.