My Super Mid-Section

As the title suggests, I’m a sarcastic person. I’d really like to think of myself as a good-natured woman with a great sense of humor. But as of late, I’m more of a witch with a very sardonic sense of sarcasm.

 I’ve begun the whole mid-life process. The emotional rollercoaster, the irritability, the night sweats…. 

I’m a normal female on a normal path through life, but when I  used to sit and listen to my mom and her sister or her mother talk about hot flashes, I never in a million years thought it would be that bad. It wouldn’t happen to me like it happened to them. And I sure as heck wasn’t going to whine about it.

I was wrong.

Though I know I’m not even in the grips of menopause, I am very well into the beginning of peri-menopause. Meaning the pre-premenopause.

And I don’t whine about it. I wine about it.

But wining, or rather, self-medicating is not entirely my fault. About a year ago, my husband and I went through some crap. We now find ourselves on the better side of the crap. We’ve learned to communicate better and control our immature temperamental outbursts. While we are still far from perfect, we have worked a lot and it’s paying off. One thing I’ve learned about marriage is that no one knows how to do it, that is, have the perfect marriage. You don’t need to read any of those books written by psychologists or marriage counselors. You only need to remember that when you marry, it’s for life so you’d better find a way to work it out.  As much as I dislike Dr. Phil, I always find myself asking, “How’s that working for ya?”You can’t just throw your hands up in the air and say it’s not working. You’re an adult, so if it’s not working, find a way to make it work.

Back to my point…  it was during this time that my husband finally realized just how stressed I had been for the past couple of years. Our four children are all in different steps of their lives and the three oldest kids seemed to all be hitting some rough patches at the same time. My job was getting quite stressful due to a new system that our two person department was implementing. And then the fact that my husband was unemployed and money was beyond ‘tight’ was just more than I was able to handle gracefully. 

Up until this point, I was never really a drinker. I still don’t think of myself as a drinker. I would have the occasional glass of wine or a mixed drink, but since I was either at work or at home most of the time, I never felt as though I had an occasion to drink.

But then, one thing led to another and cheap white wine is fairly easy to find in most stores. And with my husband bringing in a steady paycheck, bills were being paid, kids needs and (some) wants were being accommodated; I found that there was enough to splurge on an occasional bottle of wine and it wouldn’t put us in a pinch. So I did.

I felt more relaxed. A bit happier. My husband saw the difference. I have enjoyed some creative writing during the past several years and it seemed that my creativity blossomed while I was sipping my wine. My typing suffered. So much so, there were times I wasn’t able to decipher what I had written during the previous evening.

Funny, but not.

The worst thing about my new friend is the excessive weight gain. Which I understand is also a normal part of mid-life, but I don’t think “normal weight gain” implies that 20 pounds over the course of a long winter is okay. 

Literally, within the span of the winter months, I’ve have become someone I can’t stand to look at in the mirror. None of my pants fit. None of the sleeves on my blouses fit – and no way am I going sleeveless – like ever! I can no longer put my arms straight down by my sides. I have a six-pack on my back.

It’s terrible!

What makes all of this slightly worse, is that my period seems to come twice a month. That’s twice as much bloating and twice as much irritability, anger and emotions. Which makes giving up wine even harder now. 

But I have. I realize it’s somewhat premature, but I have given it up. I have not had wine in just over a week. I’ve begun to take very small walks with my youngest daughter. Only a year ago I was able to walk 5 miles in an evening. Only a year ago I was pinning my work pants at the waist line because they were too big and I didn’t want to spend the money for a new pair.

How’s that working for me? Not well at all. In fact, I’m really quite irritated with myself for letting it get so out of
control.

I’m hoping my anger will fuel me. But after 42 years, I know I’m going to need a little more motivation than my own anger. I had hoped to find a dress for the company Christmas party and keep a picture of it to remind myself that I’m not going to look good if I can’t wear the dress. Last year, I had to squeeze into an old skirt and wear a big flowy blouse. It looked horrible! I won’t be doing that again.

Lose weight and look good, or don’t go. And this applies to more than just the Christmas party. Anytime I want to go out with the girls or with my husband I don’t want to spend an hour trying on different combinations of clothes trying to find something that will hide. I’d rather spend an hour trying things on to see what flatters the girls better. I know that sounds shallow, but I used to be able to look in a mirror and like what I saw. Now I need an industrial strength underwire and something that covers my upside-down-heart-shaped ass.

So wine, my old friend, it is time to part ways. I’ve indulged in your friendship and you’ve become a crutch; you’ve soothed my stresses, but only temporarily. My new friend is kind of boring and tasteless, but it won’t give me that bloated, puffy-eyed look in the morning. My new friend will help me gain my energy and self-confidence back. I will start feeling and looking more like a woman instead of the Goodyear tire man. And in about 7 months time, I should
look pretty darn good in that party dress!

Yay  me!