Another skip. The first was was in August, the month of my 50th birthday.
How cruel is that? A slap in the face, insult added to injury. The heavens reiterating the message: "You're an old woman now, babe."
Never mind that I have 8 year-old twins at an age when many women are grandmothers. Hey, some are even great grandmothers at my age, although that involves kids having kids, something I would not recommend to anyone.
But still, this gives me pause. Meno-pause. (It's OK, you can groan, I surely did.)
I think it's time I took the "peri-" out of the term when I talk about it. Increasingly, it seems the real thing is here to stay.
I might get a period next month, I might not. It feels maybe 50/50.
I can feel my body changing yet again, a subtle shifting of the gears. Some things slowing down (my brain, my legs) and some things speeding up (acquiring of gray hairs, increasing waist girth, my insomniac nights).
None of this is for the better. 50 year-olds were not meant to run around after active 8 year-olds on a full time basis. Whose idea was it to have kids in my 40's again? Oh, yeah, mine.
They say you should look back down the women in your mother's line to determine the age you are likely to enter "the change." But my mother had a hysterectomy at 48 so I have no way of knowing when she would have switched over. She was still having periods at that point though, so I know for sure she wasn't on the early team.
I think the hardest part of this is accepting that the baby shop is now, really and truly, finally closed for good. It was never in our plans to have more, we can hardly afford it time- or energy-wise. But still, it's nice to feel like it's by my choice, not something chosen for me. I used to think: if we win the lottery we can try for that girl. A long shot fantasy, but still within the realm of vaguely possible. Not any more. I'll have to wait now until I'm grandma to little Venus to get my girl.
It's also a little hard for me to reconcile with all this because I hardly look my age, am always assumed to be a decade younger.
My mother, too has a much more youthful demeanor. People are always remarking on how much younger than her 88 years she appears. Her usual response is a sharp and funny retort: "Thank you. But my bones know how old I am"
|Me and my Mom on her 87th birthday, 2009|
"Thank you. But my ovaries know how old I am."
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