Massage and Hormones

Yesterday I had an appointment for a prenatal massage at my chiropractor's office. My appointment card said 1, and I got there around 12:55. I walked up to the doors, was about to go in, when I realized the sign said "CLOSED." Um, what? I looked at the hours and it said they were closed from 12-2! I pulled out my appointment card and confirmed that I did in fact have a 1 o'clock appointment.

I decided I would wait in my car until 1 just to make sure. Shortly after 1, a woman comes out of the office. I decided to go in while it was still unlocked (I had seen her struggle to get out and finally unlock it). I go in and NO ONE is around. The door had made a loud "ding dong!" noise, so I knew if someone was around they were aware I was in there. I waited for a few minutes and no one came out, so I started to get paranoid that I wasn't supposed to be in there and went back to my car. I got out my phone and called to leave a nasty message, when I notice a woman inside the building approach the door and look outside. As it turns out, it was my massage therapist. I was about to really have a bitch fest on their answering machine, so I'm glad I didn't have to.

The massage was nice, but I was a little irritated that the clock said 1:55 when she was finished, and considering she'd started late I felt like my time was ripped off - I was supposed to get an hour. Oh well. It felt great, but I was really annoyed that she kept saying "Are you ok?" like I was doing something wrong or looked in pain or something. It made me self conscious.

I got home and eventually started making dinner. Asian lettuce wraps! Yum. Anyway, I'm chopping the chicken and realize that even though Mr. D e-mailed me the other day asking what groceries I needed (he was going to the store), I had failed to put an onion on the list. For some reason (um, perhaps the baby I'm incubating), this was COMPLETELY NOT OK! I got myself all worked up, mad at myself for failing to put an onion on my list (when I've made this dish a billion times, I know it needs an onion).

At this point, I had two options. I could finish chopping the chicken, put it in the fridge, and go get an onion from the store. OR, I could have a complete breakdown.

You can guess what happened.

I wandered downstairs, where Mr. D was working hard pulling up the basement carpet (that's another story for another day). I stood on the bottom step and waited for him to acknowledge me. He said, "What's wrong?" and BAM, I started hysterically crying. "I forgot to tell you we needed an onionnnnnn!" and it was downhill from there. I cried and cried, and explained to him that I was so mad at myself and didn't want to go to the store to get an onion because I was too hungry. I asked if we could order a pizza instead (even though now that I'm in a rational mindset I realize that would take way longer than just going to get a freaking onion).

Mr. D offered to get an onion, I refused to let him go. Eventually he convinced me through my wailing and tears that we didn't even need an onion. I agreed, and he accompanied me upstairs, hugged me for awhile, put an ice pack around my neck because I was hot, gave me a Coke for some caffeine since he thought maybe I was tired, and offered to find me a snack (I'd already had a granola bar while I contemplated my two reaction choices so I declined another snack). I felt way better. Mr. D was able to finish ripping up carpet, and I calmly finished dinner and it was delicious, even without the onion.

Hormones are so strange.