Forgetting chores. Creating scenes in malls. Peeing in her pants. Menopause sure is tough on this humorist’s kids.
My son was upset the other night because he realized he’d only practiced piano a couple times throughout the week and his lesson was the next day. He was very hard on himself, and I said, “I’m sorry, honey. You’re only nine; Mommy needs to remind you more often. That’s part of my job.”“But you’re in menopause!” he cried. “You can’t remember anything!”
And it hit me. I’m not too young for menopause; my children are too young for it. Or, rather, for me to be in it. I just finished telling them how a woman’s body makes babies, and now I have to tell them how it stops. It’s like the short-attention-span-theater version of life talks. Gee, maybe they’ll at least be in middle school before I tell them why my bladder’s hanging down to my knees.
At least I’m not alone. I’ve met many, many moms my age – with young children – going through the same thing. Heck, if they can make a Broadway musical about it, then there’s something going on. And what’s going on, quite simply, is that we’re having kids later. At my son’s ball games, I could just as easily be sitting next to a pregnant mom as a fellow hot-flasher.
As one friend says, though, 50 is the new 30, so I’m really only . . . hmmm . . . 26. I can live with that assessment. I feel young, and whatever my body has to go through, it will go through. It’s biology, that’s all. It’s just taking some getting used to; when my mom went through all this, I’d already finished college and commiserated with her over some cheese and a nice Chardonnay – not Lucky Charms and a juice box.
