For your enjoyment I am sharing my top ten all time favourite perimenopause symptoms. Feel free to add any of your own to the list in the comments page…be brave, ladies, don’t leave me sitting here alone 😉
10. Why Am I In This Room?
If I had a pound for every time I land in a room and can’t remember what or why I went in there for…well, it would be skiing every year instead of Brighton. I usually remember once the stairs have been walked up or down. I haven’t worked out if this is relevant or just a cruel twist of fate.
9. Oh why now?! Missed monthlies.
Nothing for weeks. Not a glimpse. Then, right in the middle of a day out that’s been planned for weeks…bang. Harsh, I call it. Harsh.
8. Invisibility in the face of gorgeousness.
Surrounded by my beautiful adult girls on a day out I become invisible. Like a dried up old husk blowing down the main street of a deserted town. If I bump in to Bruce Willis now there’s no chance he is going to ask for my phone number because he won’t see me. Still, being the girl’s rottweiler has its advantages…when their unwanted admirers do clock my presence and the look on my face, they scarper…swiftly. Grr.
7. Lack of patience and irritation.
Argh! I know you gals hear me. Supermarket shopping can bring out the worst of this in me when I come up against what I will politely describe as ‘aisle chatters’. I am a grumpy old bat in the supermarket at the best of times as I don’t want to be there. Block my way by talking to your friend about Daisy’s ovaries being removed and how her husband has subsequently taken up a renewed interest in late night internet trawling and…well, I am not as sympathetic as I would be if you weren’t between me, my can of baked beans and a quick exit.
6. Dry skin.
This one has been a constant problem in the last few years. I say dry skin but it migrates to other areas too sometimes. I have to slap my homemade balm or oil combination on morning and night these days just to stop myself from shedding on the carpets.
5. Frizzy grey hair under hair dye.
In at number 5 comes the grey hair which is under hair dye but still a different beast to the natural stuff which is left intact. Wiry, stubborn and curly – it’s the straighteners out after a hair wash every time or walk around looking like a Gorgon sister.
4. Hot flushes and cold flushes.
It’s become a daily task to find Goldilocks. I am either too hot or too cold and rarely a happy medium. Hot flushes at 3am waking me in the middle of a satisfying dream about Johnny Depp can be particularly trying. I don’t have dreams like that often enough to afford to waste them for a start.
3. Thinning hair.
Gah! I didn’t have a lot to start with but now I find my hairline on my forehead is no longer a widows peak but two tramlines in danger of meeting in the middle. Thank heavens for a fringe and long hair. I try to avoid being caught in a strong wind for fear of exposure. I remember all the aunts on my father’s side having this very same problem. Thanks, girls!
2. I hate my scales! And the ones that weigh me!
Oh I have given up standing on these. Whatever I do I am destined to be bald, short and fat like my aforementioned aunts. My mother gave false hope by being a size 6 most of her life. I thought it might counter the problem, so to speak, but then she starting gaining weight, bless her, and well…I can hear the sound of distant operatic singing by a woman in a large dress. I am a size 12 at the moment, hardly elephantile, but still. My diet rules – eat healthily, don’t binge unless you have PMT and politely refuse any offers of a third helping of Ben & Jerrys.
1. Hag hairs on my chinny chin chin.
In top position, my favourite symptom of aging. This is the symptom which causes most hilarity from my loving family. There they are, minding their own business, when a cry such as ‘How many more?!’ from their loving mother brings them running towards me with…genuine…concern and offers to do that days plucking with the tweezers. The darlings.
I suppose it could be worse. My ex mother-in-law shaves hers with an electric razor in the middle of a conversation in mixed company whilst bemoaning the cost of her grocery shopping. A century or so ago we could have made a few coins out of her at the local market by sticking her in a tent and charging a penny a look. We are so used to it that none of us says a word except to tell her if she has missed a patch…