Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

Having a kid right before hitting perimenopause was probably the best decision I’ve ever fucking made. I joke about it, but there are days I have no clue what is happening to me. I can go from completely fine to irrationally pissed off in about thirty seconds. Something that wouldn’t have bothered me two years ago can now make me want to crawl out of my own skin. I’m overstimulated. I’m irritated. I can’t concentrate. I forget shit constantly. I walk into rooms and have no idea why I’m there. I’m exhausted but somehow can’t sleep…sometimes I want everyone to leave me alone, and then I feel lonely when everyone leaves me alone.

Then there’s trying to explain all of this to my husband. Poor Jeff. How exactly do you explain: “I know you didn’t actually do anything wrong, but for reasons neither of us fully understands, the way you are chewing right now has made me repulsed by you.” I KNOW I sound like a fucking nut job. The problem is, I’m also INSIDE the nut job wondering what the crap is going on. It’s not like I wake up and think, “You know what sounds fun today? Being an irrational bitch to everyone I love.” I can actually feel myself overreacting while I’m overreacting, and then I get annoyed and mad at myself but don’t want to admit that I’m crazy or apologize for it. There’s still a tiny rational version of me somewhere in the back of my brain going, “Lindsay. This is not that serious.”Unfortunately…she gone.

The hormones are running the show now, and at the exact same time, I’m raising a toddler who ALSO has enormous feelings she doesn’t understand and very little control over them. Basically, there are two women in this house whose emotional regulation systems are unknowns and unpredictable.

One of us is two. The other one is 44. I’m starting to wonder if women that say their fourties’ were the best years of their lives are just trying to be supportive, or they forgot everything like I do walking into a room that’s not even in the path of what I needed.

Bee cries because I peeled her banana wrong. I cry because I’m overwhelmed, exhausted, pissed off, hot, touched-out and someone asked me one more fucking question, and also because I peeled her banana wrong. Then five minutes later we’re both perfectly fine, hugging it out, coloring, and building Lego castles. Bee and I should probably just start looking at each other after our meltdowns like, “Hormones, am I right?” Except hers haven’t even started yet and mine are having their own reality show. THAT is the part I don’t think people talk about enough.

It isn’t just hot flashes. It’s wondering why I’m suddenly anxious about shit that never bothered me. Why my patience disappeared. Why I can’t find words I KNOW I know. Why I can’t sleep even though I’m fucking exhausted. Why my brain feels foggy. Why everything feels louder. Why sometimes being touched makes me want to scream. Why I can be laughing with my husband one minute and ready to launch him into the wall the next because he asked me where something is, then I feel guilty.

These are my people. I love these people. I don’t WANT to be irritated by them. I don’t want my husband wondering which version of me he’s getting today, and I definitely don’t want to feel like I need to apologize for existing in my own body.

I’m trying to understand it. I’m trying to explain it to him. Half the time I’m Googling shit just so I can say, “SEE? THIS IS A THING. OTHER WOMEN ARE DOING THIS TOO. I HAVE NOT COMPLETELY LOST MY MIND.” (Probably yelling hence the caps)

So yeah. Having a kid right before perimenopause was a fan-fuckingtastic idea, that I would never change for anything in the world because despite my multiple personalities, she’s absolutely perfect. Sometimes I just need to bitch a little. Isn’t that what blogging is for?

Bee is learning how to handle emotions for the first time, and I’m learning how to handle mine all over again. We’re doing great. Jeff may not survive us, poor guy.