My entire system has gone...to quote my friend, HAYWIRE.
In the last several months I have literally lost my waist, gained more than a handful of pounds, seen my boobs explode in size and battled emotional roller coasters that have way more peaks than valleys. It is a veritable minefield up in here.
Holy menopausal hell.
I anticipated that my menopausal story would be uneventful. My hormonal life has been nondescript, mostly.
Menarche for me began at age 11-1/2. Regular as a clock from then on. My life never included PMS. I never used birth control. And I absolutely should have needed it. I mean....how? why? what???? My twenties were…..edgy.
Once I was married and anxious for a baby, of course I was not able to get pregnant. Why would I suddenly be the one thing I was eternally thankful that I had never been.....FERTILE.
Then I got pregnant and basically could not stop the pregnancies from coming. One right after another....miscarriage. Grace. miscarriage. Lea.
So when I started getting "hot flashes" at age 51, I was ok with it. How bad could this be? The end of something that was never a big issue.
WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.
Boobs and bitchiness. Fat and flubbiness.
Nothing has changed from my stand point. I eat the same way. I exercise (?!?!) the same way. BUT I am packing on the poundage like a slug with a candy addiction. The waist that has survived a million 5 pound weight gains has vanished. The daily 200 sit-ups are meaningless against the flub. My boobs have increased almost 3 bra sizes....I mean come on, is this some kind of cruel joke? I need a rack like a hole in the head. No thanks.
My skin is dry. My arms have the consistency of pudding. I have back fat. I mean a shitload of back fat. I say if I look good coming who cares what I look like going......but I saw what I looked like going and I spent an entire day trying to figure out how to stand so you couldn't see the 3 fat rolls on my back.
I figured out that if I bend at the waist and suck in my stomach and push my back up like a cat stretch you can't see it. Now walking around like this is crazy. And it is uncomfortable. But that does NOT mean I am unwilling to do it.
I am toying with wardrobe changes like wearing only shifts and what the old ladies in Brooklyn call "house dresses". Coupled with a smashing necklace and a fetching pair of sunglasses and no one will even notice how fluffy I am.
Here is my question???? What the hell? What is the male counterpart to this bullshit? I mean sure my husband has to listen to my diatribes against the unfairness of it all. And he has to succumb to my insistence that the big tits are NOT A GOOD THING. That and more. So much more.
I demand justice. I demand some parity. Ear hair and grey pubs don't count as male menopause. It's just so unfair.
I asked my husband if I looked fat the other day. He spun around, I thought to look and see, and he said in a deliberately measured tone, "Let’s pretend you do look fat, am I really going to tell you that you do"? So in response, I did what any LMNOPausal woman would do and I yelled at him. "If I ask for your opinion, I expect to get an honest one. Do you think you are helping me by lying to me"? Poor him.
I bought 2 new bras for our trip to Maui. Big, white, prison bras. I also bought a one piece swim suit. Plus a bikini. Plus a swim cover that is essentially a burka. Then just yesterday I purchased a jumpsuit. As I tried it on my daughter helped me position the tri fold mirror so I could see how my ass looked in this jumpsuit. I said, "hmmmm, I wonder if Kim Kardashian thinks it's cute when her ass looks like a pair of basketballs crammed into a too small bag.....me, not so much". Then I promptly purchased the jumpsuit and talked about how cute it was going to look with my black wedges. Yeah, mood swings. Mood swings are here as well.
I had an appointment today to see my OB/GYN. I was going to bombard her with all of my questions. But she had an emergency. Some lucky woman was going to give birth via C-section. My appointment has been rescheduled. My husband texted me and asked how my appointment went. He has questions too but he is too afraid to ask them. I understand.
I also wonder about these famed cougars that reach their sexual peak post-menopausal and hook up with 30 year old studs. Where are their body issues? Or is that coming? The boobs will come in handy then.
So many questions. Zero answers. Just more questions.
Followed by a crying jag. A bag of Boom Chicka Pop consumed in one sitting. Weighing my heavy breasts at the nail scale at Home Depot. Flapping my bat wings for fun. Considering taking just one healthy tequila shot at the start of each day, kind of pre-emptively...as a coping mechanism.
I am wondering how long this will last. Is this the new normal? The hot flashes were so short lived. I would take those back in exchange for one more day with my waist. I miss that cute thing.
Well...until July, when I see the doctor, I will just flounder around camouflaging my "changes" and trying to stay somewhat sane. I have the daintiest little ankles. That is about all I will be highlighting. Time to pull out the ankle bracelets. Shifting your focus down here.....
I know I know...the boobs are so distracting.