Hot Flashes

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That's it... I got the blood tests back.... I'm post menopausal....

While my doctor says that I should give a zillion thanks that I didn't suffer hot flashes, I was COUNTING on hormonal havoc as a ready excuse for just about everything.

NOW how am I going to explain the mood swings? The sudden tears? My bitchy twin?

And if it is not enough that I didn't get to use the excuses of menopause, does it seem fair that I don't even get the full advantages of empty nest? This later life mothering has me saying goodbye to my hormones while saying hello to 14 year old daughter - hereinafter referred to as Her Royal Highness' - hormones.

Oh.... and did I forget to mention that not only do I have to deal with being over 50 and blind-dating, but all previous illusions that I could compete with younger women seem truly ludicrous, as my self confidence is left behind, lost somewhere in the aisles between the tampons and the prune juice?

The up-side? My doctor exclaimed, "Congratulations, your ovaries have stopped working, you don't need birth control anymore!"  Given the current state of affairs, that's like wasting youth on the young...

I know that nothing has really changed in my life except the added official knowledge of my new status. I'll get over it. I've gotten over worse. 

But for now, humor me.... I think it is worth a pout or two.

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Hormones and Hades

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As if the very principle of being over 50 were not unfathomable enough, as if being back on the market over 50 were not a stroll through Hades, as if my body were not gravity's playground, amidst the havoc ridden exit of my own hormonal activity I have to deal with my last fledgling's periodic incarnations of a PMS demon.


As if I didn't feel bad enough that I can't get a date on Saturday night (or even a double-take from a bored doorman) and just when I need attention the most, I come home from a long day of work to hormonal grunts and steely stares that are my lot for having asked if she had a nice day; and how DARE I insist over and over and over again that she talk to me when she doesn't feel like talking. 


Recidivist that I am, I have been sentenced yet again to solitary confinement to ponder my misdeeds; she enters her sanctuary to read, where no mother may enter lest they breath her air. 


I am spending another evening alone with my laptop, book and remote control. There's a lot to be said for that scenario, but after a few years, even that grows old. 


Years ago, in the throes of loneliness after divorce, a wise child psychologist warned me that making my child my best friend was too big a responsibility for them. 


I have internalized that concept so much so that I can honestly say, NO, it is not enough that I have my children, work and home. They do not fill all of my emotional needs. Their attention, whether it be genuine or because I control the car keys, does not replace the caressing attention of a man. 


That being said, for lack of a date on a Friday night, I'm really happy when all the kids are around. We curl up on the sofa to a movie, a bucket of ice cream and 4 spoons. 


And for a few hours, all is good in the world. 


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Members Only Club

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I haven't written for a while. For over one week, I stepped outside of my routine. I did not check email, I did not speak with any men. (OK. No men called me. )

I am in a holding pattern.

All the major survival-mode issues of the last 15 years seem to be behind me. I am free to fill that space once occupied by worry and survival with joy and pride. 

But as it turns out, I do less filling, and more keeping out....

I spend a great deal of time playing bouncer in the club that is my life. Outside my door, waiting for the party to start, is a long line of  smooth talkers, promise makers and dream weavers. They are the life of the party. The ones that make me feel special as long as the booze is flowing and the music is loud. 

But sooner than later, they realize they are missing too many parties. 

So I put a bigger bouncer at the door to keep their kind away.  Unfortunately, he scares away the kinder, gentler would-be guests.

I thought that if I emptied my space of dead weight and cobwebs, the goodness would find its way of its own accord.  But alas, the cosmos has its own rhythm... Is my knight in shining armor around the corner? Is my ship just off shore?

I feel like a walking cliche. Are all the good ones really married or gay?   Or am I embodying the Groucho Marx remark of not wanting to join a club that would have me as a member?

The long and the short of it is that I am "alone" by choice.

I am waiting for THE one... the one that will take my breath away... 

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