Perimenopause. Why do they give something so awful such a harmless name? Do they think we’ll be so distracted by the tricky spelling and impending memory loss that we won’t realize that our bodies are shutting down? It’s like the 40-year death rattle. Your period (aka Shark Week) is like an ugly dog that your parents brought home unexpectedly when you were twelve, but over time you grew to love that little bitch and then, just when you realize you can’t live without her, she up and dies. Perimenopause, I hate you and I don’t even know you.
When did this happen? Okay, I know exactly when it happened: a month to the day after I turned 40. The day I realized that my seven year-old was singing the lyrics to a song and not only did I not recognize the song, I couldn’t name the artist.
All those years of listening to the Wiggles and Yo Gabba Gabba have caught up to me, because I cannot for the life of me figure out what the hell is being said in “Gangnam Style.” Fuck, is my hearing going too? Oh, it’s in Korean? Thank God.
The next night, I woke up in a cold sweat. I rolled over to go back to sleep when it hit me like a train that I was 40 years old with night sweats. That’s when I realized: It must be perimenopause.
Almost in tears, and definitely in a full-on panic, I grabbed my iPhone, and started googling. Reading symptoms, the hypochondriac in me screamed. Next stop, spinal curvature and shrinkage! WebMD said that my vagina would become so dry that if you pushed on my belly puffs of smoke would come out. I’ll have thinning hair on my head, but my face will suddenly grow a Tom Selleck ‘stache. I’ll get fat and–worse!–be stuck that way. I’ll need Botox, restylane and a facelift. Which means I’ll need a divorce and to marry a lonely plastic surgeon with low self esteem.
Also, I will no longer be fertile. What? I come from a long line of fertile women who had babies way into old age like in the Bible. Sarah had nothing on my grandma. I’m not even sure that my grandma had ever gone through menopause when she died last year at 87.
But good news: I’ve had no more night sweats and I just ovulated. I was tempted to get pregnant just to stick it to perimenopause but then I realized the joke would be on me. So, I’m pretty sure that all of this is just some hormonal imbalance due to my impending Shark Week. That’s right: I’m still fertile, bitches! Now, excuse me while I go get busy to Gangnam Style. I think he’s talking directly to me when he says, “Heyyyyyyyy, sexy lady!”