Post-Apocalyptic Explanation

Today is a new day, complete with a new found understanding of my temporary insanity*.

Let's just say that Mike is a lucky man for being out-of-town and the boys got a (potential) taste of the monthly ups and downs of being married.

God help them all.

I wonder/fear/worry that this is the beginning of THE CHANGE. Heavens to mergatroid if this is what the next three to five years of life are going to be about.

Here's the honest truth:

I'm about to endure "tropical summers" in the dead of winter, where I throw the covers back and scream "Who's been messing with the thermostat again?"

I'm going to open the box to the tampons and read "Have a happy period" with much more frequency and much less calendar accuracy.

I'm going to start to notice wrinkles in places where only shar pei puppies SHOULD have them**.

I'm going to have to down the equivalent of a keg of water every day to retain any sense of hydration***.

I'm going to continue to look at pictures of me and think "GOSH. I am SO.MUCH.CUTER in the mirror than in pictures. What the hay?"

Seriously, God? This is our just reward for making it through the pitfalls of zitty tweenhood, the emotional roller coaster of the teen years, angst in our twenties over "will he/won't he call?", the stress of planning a wedding, pregnancy and giving birth, and attempting to remain sane while raising children and dogs? REALLY?

Next time, could we have all that followed by a change that includes smoother skin, fewer dimples, heat/cold regulation according to the season, and appetites that despise carbs and pine for fruits and veggies?

That would make for a nice "middle" age, wouldn't it?

But, apparently, God, you have a GREAT sense of humor when it comes to us here middle-aged womenfolk.

So, you had someone invent a musical called "Menopause", which I intend to buy season tickets to. For the next decade.

After all, if laughter is the best medicine, I guess I should start taking mine in ginormous quantities, lest I revert to the hag I was yesterday.

Anyone up for ticket sharing? Anyone?



*There is a delicious lack of responsibility that descends when your husband has a vasectomy and you are no longer required to track a calendar to be sure you are/are not pregnant. But, with that freedom also comes ignorance. Let's just say, I was beyond clueless that a complete month in my life had passed. And, even though I had ALL the symptoms, I wasn't putting two-and-two together.

**Like under my breasts. As if there is a point in that.

***Even then, I'll still be about as humidified as a dead ant after 100 days, whose body retired at the closest point to the sun, in the middle of the Mojave Desert.