Before going through “the change of life,” I was a very tolerant person.
But somewhere between screaming like a wild Banshee in the delivery room to my first hot flash, I became less tolerant. It didn’t happen all at once, but gradually, like the leaves in New England; I went from vibrant green to crusty brown. In my youth, I never understood the impatience and general crankiness of elderly people. Now that I am a card carrying AARP member, I have a license to be cantankerous. It doesn’t take much to spark my temper or tap dance on my last, sane nerve.
It never used to bother me when people bought the newest gadget on the market. Back in the dinosaur days, that included microwaves, cordless phones and cassette tape players. Today, everyone HAS to own the latest technological wonder: iPhone, iPad….iBidet and i-Don’t-Care.
I have also become increasingly annoyed by people who feel compelled to update me daily on their latest exercise regimen/diet plan. I’m standing in line at the bakery and they’re all like, “Wow, I just lost 5 pounds!” and I’m thinking, “Butter cream or chocolate mocha frosting on those cupcakes?”
And what’s up with the fickle bladder in middle age? I used to be like a camel that could store fluids for days…but now this camel needs a colostomy bag.
I don’t have time for people with Type A personalities. When I was younger, I was accused of being one; I admired those powerful, aggressive people fighting for a cause. Now their passion exhausts me and I just don’t have patience for their soapbox drama. I’d rather be playing corn hole with a band of merry meerkats.
When I’m feeling particularly grumpy, the last thing I want to hear is how great your expensive, African safari was, how awesome your kid is at underwater basket weaving and how excited you are for buying that lucky, five million dollar lottery ticket.
Unless you’re feeling charitable enough to pay off my mortgage, I really don’t want to know how the planets aligned perfectly for you while I’m stuck in the crossfire of a meteor shower.
What disturbs me more than anything is menopausal fatigue. I used to be like the Energizer Bunny. I could simultaneously flip a pancake, nurse a baby, donate $100 to the penguin tuxedo fund and practice my Irish Riverdancing steps, all within five minutes. Now I’m yawning at 10:30 a.m. (and this is after two cups of coffee strong enough to invigorate the Walking Dead). All I want to do is hibernate under a quilt until somebody rings the dinner bell. I WAKE FOR STEAK!
I’ve hit my 50′s like the last person in a bounce house stuck in the corner crack with no one there to pull me out. Never fear, this cranky, Menopausal Mama will persevere!
Note: Marcia writes the blog Menopausal Mother. To read her latest post, click HERE!