Can we talk menstruation for a few moments? I'm 42 and my body's is betraying me. Pains over here. Cramps over there. Stuff not at the same latitude it used to be. Extra me where I'd rather have less. My doctors have the answer, plain and painful as it may be..."What do you expect? You're old." Ouch.

When I visit my doc, I try to go to armed with questions, a sense of humor and mental notes about changes in my body, etc., so I can maximize my visits and learn. I remember a few years ago, I mentioned to my OB/GYN about changes in my menstrual cycle & wacky PMS symptoms, a few years after I'd had my second child. I thought it was related to birthing. She said that every woman goes through this, "Welcome to peri-menopause!"

"Peri-menopause?!" I'd heard of all stories about menopause - hot flashes, moodiness, etc. - but not the peri- part. We get a peri- too? Woopee.

If menopause is the finish line...peri-menopause is the twisting, turning rollercoaster ride to get there.

Peri-menopause is the time leading up to menopause. It's like the physical, and often emotional countdown to your ovaries shutting down. I can just hear my inner organs counting it down, "Complete ovary shutdown in five, four, three...."

Before peri-menopause, my PMS was pretty uneventful. My family had no clue what was in store for the peri-years. Now PMS could stand for anything on any given day...Pretty Mean SOB, Probable Murder Suspect, Pathetic Moody Specimen, Petulant Mom Screamer...it's a good week to get "alone" time every month.

I guess it's good that the old ovaries go out with a flair. Like a shooting star, perhaps, blazing across the night sky before fading into cosmic dust.

Who knows what that star is screaming up there before she disintegrates. If it's anything like me, she might say, "Get out of my way you *&$#@ as-teroid! You think you own this space?!"

Or, "Oh *sniffle* look how pretty the Earth is with all the blue and white *sniffle* it makes me want to cry!! *waahahaa!*"

Or..."Look! It's Pluto, so lonely, so cold - is it hot in here? Open a window or something."

If my ovaries could talk, maybe they'd toast each other with shots of tequila they stole from my liver and say, "Whew. I'm beat. But hey, it was a good run, wasn't it? Can't wait for retirement. God knows we earned it."

I hear ya, ovaries, loud and clear. Pass the tequila, here's to you. Party like it's 1999. You done good.