I want my…I want my…I want my PMS…

Never thought I’d say that.

Menopause been belly, belly bad to me.  In less than a year my legs have morphed into my mother-in-laws legs.  I vowed I would never let that happen. 

And the appetite?  Horrific.  We used to have a loveseat in the family room.  Gone.  It was delicious.

The other day, I was attempting to describe the joy of hot-flashes to my husband (after I’d slapped his loving hands away as he was trying to comfort my distress).  “Honey, it’s like that feeling you get when you are in the sauna about ten minutes past the moment you know you should have left, to avoid heat stroke?”  “Ooo,” hubby tsks in sympathy.  “I swear, this morning, I was holding an iron skillet during a hot flash and… it bent.”

How unfair that this burst of heat does not melt unwanted pounds away.  What good is a personal summer, if you can’t get a good tan out of the deal?

On the up side, should we have a power outage this winter, the family will all be able to gather round me, for warmth. 

Carolyn

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2 Comments

Filed under aging, hot flash, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Weight gain, Writing

2 responses to “I want my…I want my…I want my PMS…

  1. Carolyn, about 15 years ago, someone told me that all these baby-boomer women going into menopause were the true cause of global warming. But that “is it hot in here or is it just me?”–I used to ask that at the beginning. Now I assume it’s me unless I hear otherwise. 😉

  2. Someone ought to tell Al Gore that it’s not Tipper’s fault… 🙂

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