I think it’s time we take a moment to vent about something that’s happening to our bodies.  I actually have no idea what happened to my OLD body, the one that could buy a bikini off the clearance rack. And that is precisely my point.

Disclaimer: I am a Gen exer, forgive my bluntness. If you happen to be a man, I advise you to stop reading for fear that you may no longer be attracted to your life partner after hearing what else I have to say. 

For crying out loud. I’m talking about menopause.

It’s a totally different animal compared to becoming a mom. No one tells you what it’s like to have a baby. I mean really tells you. After the baby shower, you think it’s going to be all rainbows and unicorns. The next thing you know, you’re wearing a pad the size of Alaska and smelling your baby’s head every 20 minutes because you’re so in love. Yet you still feel like your lady parts have been hit by a truck. 

Thankfully, being a new mom means despite all the painful stuff, you get to bring home a precious bundle of joy. 

But when it comes to menopause? Oh no. 

There are no prizes. 

There are no rainbows or unicorns.

The only baby you get out of it? A FOOD baby. 

It’s basically a splash of so many side effects (minus the fine print) that shock your system around the time you become an empty nester. 

I think of it as being roasted by your old self on a daily basis. Only the celebrity emcee is the OLD YOU and turns the mic on about the same time you are thrust into this crazy stage. 

I envision my roasting going something like this: 

Jackie:

Remember when you had a jawline?

Remember your old butt?

Remember when you had a metabolism?

Remember when you could eat a bag of tortilla chips and wake up without a pooch?

Remember when you remembered things?

Remember when you didn’t have arms that dangled?

Remember when you were always cold?

Remember when you could remember why you walked into the kitchen?

Remember when you had a neck without rolls?

Remember when Aunt Flo trashed your favorite pair of white pants? Well she’s dead to you now. So you’ve got that going for you. 

I can picture a collage of old photos of me being splashed across a big screen TV. Like a before and after, only I AM the after.

Why!

Why?

Why do we have to deal with this?

There is no honeymoon phase.

No one’s throwing a shower for Aunt Flo’s year-long retirement. 

There are no lullabies for hot flashes.

No symphonies for sweat shadows.

No burrito blankets to soothe us after stepping on the scale.

No prizes at the bottom of the last box of pads. 

And there are definitely no push presents for reaching this stage of life!

I have come to realize a few things since Aunt Flo stopped visiting:

Tank tops should no longer be a part of my wardrobe. 

My long legs have turned into tree trunks. 

My back fat has back fat.

I retain water just by looking at a glass of water.

My body was once a rectangle and it is gradually turning into a giant square.  

I eat protein.

I eat vegetables.

I exercise. 

I also eat lots of chocolate but at least doing some of the above has prevented me from turning into the girl that gets sucked up the tube at the chocolate factory. 

There are some pluses. (If you want to call them that.)

I’m acting more like a man than ever before. Probably why the word “men” is in menopause.

I am braver. 

I am never cold at night. In fact, I’m like an oven!

I am thicker-skinned.

I face things head on. 

I don’t care what other people think.

(Including the sassy old me emcee.)

I am not afraid to speak my mind.

I have zero tolerance for rude people.

I have zero patience for bull$hit.

I am more relaxed.

I am more content.

I am more self-aware.

I am more confident.

I suddenly want to participate in March Madness brackets and play video games on my phone. (If you consider Wordscapes and Mahjong video games.)

I sweat constantly. 

I am not embarrassed.

I crave me time.  

I drone out sometimes without realizing it.

And for some odd reason, maybe because I can’t fit into anything else, I find myself drawn to wearing the same pair of wide leg jeans on repeat. OK, I promise to talk more about this soon. 

Cheers to pushing for push presents for this crazy stage of life!