My mental health: questionable

I seem to be doing another round with the hormones of fury these past few days. I've battled them before (after my other children were born) and, in retrospect, sort of had my ass kicked, so I feel qualified to self-diagnose the special kind of crazy post-partumness brings. It's sneaky - I truck along, feeling more and more normal, rejoining regular life, fine...fine...fine...oh, shit, I've been run over by a giant hormone truck! And then it's too late. Though never too late for melodrama, clearly.

On the bright side, people all around me are doing stunningly well. Cole just got into nursing school (yay Cole!). Girl twin has rolled over three times in the past 24 hours (and is therefore obviously on her way to genius). Best of all (for me), my husband verbally wrestled the rat bastards at Cavalier to a defeat in which they agreed to write a letter to their assorted collections minions verifying that we do NOT, in fact, owe them money, that they, having actually sent us a flipping refund check, simply have no functioning accountant-type people on staff. Yay, husband! God, this doesn't mean I have to do something unnatural, does it?

That reminds me, I promised Cole I would post this. She and I were (naturally) discussing sex the other day. I said I'm not opposed to it on principle, it's like sky-diving - fine for other people, just not for me. Isn't my husband just the luckiest man alive???