I'm not saying it's my fault, it's not. But if he suddenly goes out and buys a Mustang, or a Tesla, well, probably has a lot to do with me, or at least my body. Oh, I've not let myself go, I'm kind of psychotic about not letting myself go. However, my body is going. Like it or not, there's pretty much nothing I can do about it.
Here's how it goes. He wants to cuddle, yeah, no, get away, I'm hot. Sleeping? Yeah, we don't really do that because I can't sleep, so he can't sleep, so I can't sleep, well, you get the picture. Text from a friend, yeah, I'm bawling my head off. I don't think my looks have really changed much this year, but I'm also pretty sure I look old as all get out! I pretty much, well, I pretty much don't want to do much. I'd kind of like to just lay around, but fine, laundry, ok, so you have no underwear, I'll get right on that, but damn, just want to lay on the couch. Ouch, no, stay away from that part of my body, why? Because it doesn't matter how damn horny I am, the Sahara desert got nothing on that level of dry, and I don't know how to say "lube" because, well, I don't discuss bodily functions and I don't know how to discuss this one. And no, I have no idea why I just opened the refrigerator, but I guarantee you I"ll remember next week, and whatever I was going to get will be expired. Also, yes, I will build those shelves, because I will feel like I accomplished something, but I have no idea why that doesn't translate to dusting. Nothing in my head makes sense to you, and really, not to me either.
Menopause, as in, Men, Oh, Pause before you speak because we are irrational emotional messes that we have no control over and neither do you and it's ugly and messy and we don't always know what we need, so don't feel badly that you don't either.
Nobody really warned me about any of this. Hot flashes, yes. The rest of it. Nope, no warnings, nothing. I had no idea this was going to affect so many aspects of my life, and the poor dear, my husband's. I had no idea it would ruin our sex life, something we reveled in, previously. Or that I would become so emotional. Or that I wouldn't be able to sleep, hell, it's 3 am and I'm writing this now. I didn't know the hot flashes would be worse at night. I thought I had more time, I didn't know at 45 I'd be dealing with this, I thought I would talk to my gynecologist next year or so to get some info. But this happened before, I'm not going until next week and this has been going on for months already.
So I bitch about it a bit on Facebook only to find that, well, my own damn family hasn't warned me. My Aunt, 20 years my senior, just told me she's STILL having hot flashes! What the fuck? How the hell long does this shit go on and why didn't any of the women in my family ever teach me about this bullshit?! So I get you don't want to share your secret Tamale recipe, but really? You're going to blind side me with this?! Really?
Ok, so I'm not pretending I wanted to have another child. My son is 20 years old. I sure as heck don't have the energy to have a baby. But there is a really a big difference between making a choice and having it taken away from you, because that's what I'm facing. No choice. Darling, sweet, husband of mine, 10 years, 20 years from now, if you decide you really want to be a daddy, well, hell, you got the swimmers to do it. Me? Well, although I have determined that my Play Doh fun factory is closed for business, I won't have the option to reopen it.
Maybe that's why this is so hard. Maybe that's why it's different for men and women. Our choice is taken away, they get to always have the choice (even if it's a seemingly silly one at 70 years old, they still have it). It's a mourning process. Part of me is dying, whether I like it or not, it's dying. I have to say goodbye. Crap. I didn't realize until I typed that, part of me is dying. And so is the rest of me. And this is the beginning of me knowing it, dealing with it, understanding, I am dying. The part of me that could create life is dying, and that means, well, the rest of me is too. Oh, not tomorrow, but, it is.
You poor poor men. You have no idea. No idea. And neither do we. So we're all navigating blind. And I'll try harder to open my lines of communication. Just please understand, it's hard to talk about. Maybe you could read a bit on your own, and maybe be a bit patient. And know I love you and I'm trying, and I'm so so very grateful for all the kindness you show me!
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