I’m officially 40! My Cape Cod and Alaska celebrations are in the rearview and middle age is stretching out ahead of me.
Wikipedia defines middle age as 45 – 65, so maybe I can delude myself for another few years.
All of a sudden I’m thinking about menopause, but wikipedia also mentions that I will now be beginning my cognitive decline, so maybe I’ll forget about it.
I’ve always had irritable mood swings with my period. I’m happy to warn Captain about them ahead of time, but beware the person who asks about it mid-PMS.
As much as my irritableness is unjustified, it is very hard to come to terms with that in the moment. That is what alarms me about menopause. How much of an emotional roller coaster will I be on and how long will it be until I feel like myself?
I understand that I might have another eight years before I need to worry about this, but it makes me even more nervous that no one is talking about it.
I feel like I was blindsided when I had my first baby and I don’t intend to be blindsided again if I can help it.
I’ve taken to crowdsourcing the topic at the beach. I’ve heard some interesting takes on it, including some people with no irritableness. Must be nice.
I jut my finger into Captain,
“What’s coming for him?”
Several beach buddies pipe up:
Nothing or maybe nothing with a belly. Grrrumph.
The talk turns to how popular botox has become. If I had some extra money to throw around, the first thing I’d do is get some hair lasered. Maybe that’s next year’s birthday present.
As I contemplate my inevitable decline, I wake up with my right eye swollen shut. A stye one day before my birthday. One day before I’m trying to look forty and fabulous at a fancy dinner. I’m beside myself.
Every spare moment I had was spent hanging over the sink with a warm washcloth pressed against my eyeball. And every spare thought willing it to go away.
Sunglasses and a tiara did wonders to disguise it at the beach.
By dinner time it was much better and makeup took care of the rest. I’ve never been happier to return to my status quo.
Bring it on middle age. I’ll take what I’ve got, minus the mood swings, stye and chin hair.