A Menopausal Mother's Letter To Santa
You might remember me from last year---you know, the crazy lady who wrote a letter begging you to stuff her stocking with Prozac and M&MS? Yeah, that was me. I have a new wish list this time, so put the cookies down and listen up. You owe me that much after replacing the Prozac with a bathroom scale last year. Not funny.
There are several things a woman needs once she hits menopause. If my husband and kids are smart, they'll attach my list to their letters to you. A happy mother equals a happy home. A raging, hormonal woman stuffing Dunkin Donuts down her throat, not so much.
The first thing I need is a body makeover. If you think liposuction, a Brazilian butt lift and Botox are too extravagant, I'll settle for a new girdle. Remember Wonderbras? How about getting those lazy elves of yours off the shelf to invent some WonderSpanx? My body could use the extra lift and tuck.
Santa, can you do something about my hot flashes? I'm tired of feeling like I swallowed the sun. I'm burning from the inside out like a potato left too long in the microwave. If this keeps up much longer, I'm going to end up looking as brown and wrinkled as an overcooked spud.
While you're at it, I'd also love a good night's sleep for Christmas. Insomnia and fatigue are sharing the same straw and sucking up all of my energy these days. At first, the insomnia part was fun. I discovered that they sell some pretty amazing stuff on the Shopping Network at 3:00 a.m. Doesn't everybody need a nose hair trimmer that doubles as a toenail clipper?
The extra hours of being awake were great until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror after several days without sleep….and all this time I thought vampires couldn't see their reflection.
I've tried to sleep, but I'm a hot mess in bed. And not in a good way. These hot flashes have me waking every hour and sticking to the bedsheets like a rat caught in a glue trap. I'm tired of looking like a nocturnal creature or a cast member from The Walking Dead.
The lack of sleep is spoon feeding my mood swings. This Jeckyll and Hyde thing is getting old. Nobody wants to see a menopausal woman with OCD tendencies organizing dust bunnies according to size and weeping over the ones that die at the hands of a Hoover upright.
This is why I need your help, Santa. Let's make a deal. You stuff my stocking with Prozac, WonderSpanx and miracle chocolate that makes the extra pounds disappear. In return, I'll bring you my hot flashes and a palm tree to warm the North Pole so you can work on your tan. I'll even throw in a pair of nose trimmer/toenail clippers as a gift.
What do you say, Santa?