Sometime between breast-feeding and breast-sagging, between birth control pills and KY Jelly, women enjoyed a brief respite . We had not yet developed the spare tire around our middles, grown the chin hairs that feel like a boar's bristles, and acquired the distressing habit of bladder leakage.
This respite gave us a moment to catch our breath. Our children had not yet decried our ineptness at motherhood and declared that they hated us. Yes, we were living high.
Then it hit.
Perimenopause. Perimenopause is a kind of twilight. And I don't mean the twilight where Bella is courted by savagely handsome males (never mind their species). I'm talking the kind of twilight where we are neither fish nor fowl, where we are too young for Depends and too old for a bikini wax.
We still have periods, but they have grown irregular. We still have hormones, but they, too, are irregular. In fact, they send us in mood swings that take us from sweetly docile creatures to screaming shrews.
By the time menopause hits, we are nearly crazy and welcome what we see as relief. In retrospect, I realieze that is akin to welcoming the Trojan horse. into our bosoms.
Menopause is here to stay. We might as well make peace with it.