My Manifesto

illustration by Vivian Edelson
Tuesday morning, I stepped on the scale feeling good a couple of weeks into my new year's fitness routine. The scale lit up with a number higher than I'd seen since early 2012. I'm embarrassed to admit this sent me into a psychological tailspin, but it did. Emphasis on "psycho" because rather than vow to eat more thoughtfully or double down on my effort to burn calories, my reaction was to feel sullen, worthless and eat anything in site.

Wednesday, everything that could go wrong, did. And by Thursday night, I was convinced that I'd accomplished almost nothing worthwhile in my life and had myself an all-out pity party, table for one. Though a small, rational part of my brain was cautioning me not to take myself too seriously because, you know, just maybe my thoughts were hormonally induced. This morning, Friday, I got my period. Damn you, PMS.

In December 2012 I quietly celebrated 7 years of blogging. If I had finished the post that's sitting in draft mode, I suppose I would not have been so quiet. (And well, there is this.) My friend Donna at SoCal Mom is celebrating nine years of blogging and is reposting some of her old faves; I thought I'd follow in her footsteps.

It seems appropriate to begin this look-back with my Mamafesto. Not to be confused with the fabulous Manifesto series Kelly Wickham has going over at MochaMomma, this is much more light-hearted, taking a cue from Dr. Seuss. However, it applies as much to my life as Kelly's Manifesto does to hers.

It's also how this blog got its name. Though if I knew then, what I know now, I never would have picked such a silly name for my blog. There have been many times in recent years that I've been in dry, corporate settings surrounded mostly by men and asked to share my blog name.

Anyway, here goes:

Credit or apologies to the late Dr. Seuss for his book My Many Colored Days.
My Hormone-Colored Daze of PMS
by Kim Moldofsky

How sunny I am when days are yellow.
Just so content and feeling mellow.
I can move mountains if I choose!
Or maybe just sip a latte and buy some shoes.

Purple days are carefree and bright
Full of energy through day and night.
My day is productive; I get things done,
At night I relax and have some fun.

On orange days I’m giving off good vibrations
My body’s primed for ovulation!
I’m feeling sexy; I’m in the groove;
I shake my booty when I move.

On gray days clouds begin to form,
My perceptions change from the norm.
I’m in a hormone-created haze,
That enshrouds my brain for the next few days.

And then some days are blue and sad.
I fret. I pout. I get really mad.
It’s not enough to merely frown,
I fuss until tears trickle down.

Brown days are chocolaty- smooth and rich.
If I don’t get some I become a real bitch.
Candy and cookies I must devour
To keep my mood from turning sour.

Some days are blotchy like my skin.
I feel bloated, though I used to feel thin.
I get grumpier by the second;
It’s the price I pay for being fecund.*

The red days come with cramps and pain.
Reminds me I’m a woman again.
I’ve got my period; I’m on the rag,
I tend to whine, complain and nag.

It’s over. Finally, I’m me!
And then…
The whole darn cycle starts again….

*fecund= capable of producing offspring 
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