Tag Archives: moisturizing

3 Reasons Why I Am a Baby

Or, 3 Reasons Why I’m Thinking I Won’t Cope Well With the Physical Challenges of Pregnancy (If and When That Time Arrives)

1. Hunger makes me cranky.

I am one of those people whose body reacts with ridiculous histrionics to any sort of depletion. One time I was hiking out of the Grand Canyon with some friends when I suffered a sudden onset of low blood pressure and dehydration. Did I just feel crappier than normal but otherwise keep on trucking, perhaps a bit more slowly? No. I fainted all the way up that accursed trail and had to be half-dragged to the top. Embarrassing. And really annoying for my poor friends. Sorry, guys. The point is, my body is sensitive. I don’t just get hungry—I get the shakes. My limbs feel like noodles. My head throbs. My tummy burns to the point of nausea. We’re talking full-scale catastrophe. And of course, in this weakened state, my irritation at silly things skyrockets. head asplodes

2. Physical discomfort makes me pouty.

You know those times when you remember your tongue and you spend a few minutes feeling uneasily aware of that big weird thing in your mouth before you can finally forget about it (you’re welcome!)? I’m that way about everything. If there’s sweat rolling down my skin, I feel every maddening drop. I feel that little wisp of hair just barely brushing my left eyeball. I feel the awkward arrangement of my legs in a chair too tall for me and the fact that there’s nowhere to rest my arms. I notice the constriction of my clothing and the slightly-too-tight sandal strap. I’m sitting here driving myself nuts over the patches of my skin that feel dry and stiff (face, lips, hands, feet). Unless these things are immediately remedied (::pauses to apply lotion::), I am too distracted to accomplish anything. But, as happens more often than not, if I’m in a situation where I can’t address the annoyance right away, I grow convinced that the universe is deliberately persecuting me.

hangnail

Upon developing a hangnail and having no immediate access to nail clippers.


3. Pain makes me want to cry and kick my feet.

The thing I hate the very most about pain is my inability to control it. In fact, the pain begins to control me—it limits my mobility, my motivation, my productivity. I become impatient at these limitations and frustrated at my helplessness, which translates into a puerile impulse to break everything in sight. Yesterday I scattered scrambled egg bits all over the kitchen because I couldn’t lift the frying pan the way I wanted to because my neck is all seized up, so I threw the eggy spatula into the sink with no little petulance. Take THAT, stupid neck.

Highly Sensitive Person

If you identify with any of the preceding statements and wonder if you’re teetering on the edge of insanity, I recommend 1) having a hot bath and calming the heck down and 2) reading this book. You’ll be glad you did.

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3 Reasons Why Michigan Winter Is Slowly Turning Me Into a Lunatic

Or, 3 Reasons Why I Will Need a Deep-Tissue Massage and Possibly Psychiatric Care When Spring Finally Arrives, Which Probably Won’t Be Till August

1. Driving in snow. 

The first time I had to do this, it was at night after a fresh snow fall. I was all, “What? Couple inches of snow? No problem, dude.” Pure hubris. By the time I reached my destination 20 hellish minutes later, I was shaking with abject terror. I may have even cried. I mean, just a little. Cause that trip was a slip-sliding, brake-failing, red-light running RIDE OF DEATH. And yes, I said brake-failing. Turns out, tires can get so slick with snow that brakes will, you know, sort of stop working. Surprise!

2. Wearing winter gear.

I can’t put my arms down!

Seriously, it feels just like this. Sometimes, riding along in the car wearing my engulfing puffy coat and knotted-up scarf and tight-laced boots, I will suddenly feel so claustrophobic that I see black spots. My entire being is squealing “Let me out! Let me out! Omg arrghghhhuuugghh!” But of course the car is too small for me to wriggle out of those mummy wrappings and I just have to sit there and try not to claw at myself like a maniac.

3. Getting sleeted in the face.

My skin is suffering, y’all. This delicate peaches-and-cream needs balmy breezes and gentle warmth to flourish—not angry blasts of tiny ice daggers. And even if it’s not blizzardy outside, the wind alone is frosty as a beeyatch. Plus, the air in general, in or outside, seems much drier and way more harsh; I think I’m starting to understand what grapes feel like when they turn into raisins. My normal moisturizing routine—chapstick, lotion, more chapstick, MORE LOTION—has become even more obsessive than it used to be. Actually, I didn’t realize the true extent of that statement till I went around the house and gathered up the various products I’ve been using lately, which I keep stashed in strategic locations:

If I don’t turn into a chunk of ice and shatter by spring, I will be lotion-y enough to make some serial killer a nice, supple skin suit.

A few times this week, husband tried to sneak chapsticks from their assigned stations to keep in his pocket at work, which caused me to develop an acute case of Crazy Eyes when confronting him about it. Trust me when I say that I will not survive this mini Ice Age unless I have endless supplies of salves and balms at my painfully dry fingertips. So persons who are interested in getting into their side of the bed and NOT discovering a dirty sludgeball from the pile of old plowed snow in the parking lot better think twice before trifling with me.

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