Non-pregnant pauses

I think I’m perimenopausal and it sucks! Not gonna lie – the non-regulation facial hair is out of control…and horrifyingly turning white, the list of random parts of my body that ache without any cause or warning just keeps getting longer, the rate of weight gain is exponential. In short, nothing works and what does work, is complaining loudly!

My friends also have their own horror stories so at girls “whine” nights we regale each other with gruesome tales about the after effects of hysterectomies, and new and more complicated weight loss regimens, and random cysts, and adult acne, and the pros and cons of water retention, and uterine ablations to address hemorrhaging. Stories that make a battle scene from Game of Thrones – including the fire breathing dragons –  look like an episode of Dora the Explorer!

Not to go into a whole lot of detail…….are you laughing yet!! Because, that was a total lie! I’m sooo going to go into excruciating and horrifying detail now – feel free to skip the rest of this post! If it’s not obvious, the next few paragraphs are about – wait for it – my periods – you’re welcome! I will try and address the subject delicately – since I have all the delicacy of the love child of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan –  but honestly sometimes I just couldn’t be bothered! Feel free to slam a shot whenever I use a gag-worthy euphemism – it will up the interest factor significantly!

Anyway, Auntie Flo has been visiting me for 33 years now – I could count on her regularity like clockwork. The absence of Shark Week on two occasions is how I knew for sure I was pregnant. And still every 25 days I curse like a ruddy sailor when I see that I am Surfing the Crimson Wave – never fails! For the more mathematically inclined, this amounts to a spontaneous kegel-inducing 460 Red Dot Specials in my lifetime thus far! Also, the arc of my mood swings is not affected in any way by the Curse – said NO family member ever! Dave, very concernedly once informed me – “it’s not as though we are TRACKING your cycle to gauge your mood or anything – really!!”

If you have been playing along with the drinking game, you should be good and sozzled by now!

But in the last few months, I feel like my “moon” cycle is no longer the efficient, well-oiled piece of machinery of yore. It’s like one of those old wind-up toys that is slowly coming to the end of it’s spiral spring and all the gears are rusty and sticking. Which is simultaneously delightful and sobering. Delightful because I’ve gone from my usual 6 tampon + 4 maxi pad + serial-killer-crime-spree-in-my-pants, second day of hell, to an infinitely more manageable death-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts scenario.

Sobering because I think it’s directly related to the age of my eggs. It’s like my body has realized that I’m down to the last few eggs in my arsenal – the ones from the way way back, dusty, cold, remote, cobwebbed corners of my ovaries. I’m talking practically pickled in the physiological brine of 43 years. So if it isn’t already evident, what I’m trying to say is that these are really really old eggs. And, my body has decided, not really worth the effort to put together a complete uterine lining for. It’s my body’s way of saying –” yeah, you don’t want this egg to implant, ‘coz you’re probably going to give birth to something that’s a cross between the Elephant Man and Quasimodo.”

So here’s an ode to this last gasp of eggs. And who can say this better than Disney – a seminal classic from their oh-so-ironic-yet-appropriately titled movie! I dare you from now on to not think of my Red Badge of Courage every time you hear this song!

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s