Menopause Is Awesooooooommmmme.

I got my tubes tied when I was 43 after giving birth five times after the age of 35 to five beautiful kids and feeling like I was kind of pressing my luck in the “advanced maternal age” birth department.

Then when I was 48, I had a hysterectomy because my uterus was trying to escape from my body.

And now, at 49, I’m in the throes of menopause.

Big time.

Let me tell you, this is quite an experience.

I’m told that a tubal ligation and a hysterectomy can speed up the menopause process.

And I guess it did.

I DO NOT feel old enough to be going through menopause!

Isn’t that shit for old ladies?

When I used to hear about women going through menopause I thought about people who were old.

Like OLD.

Anyway, here is what I know.

HOT FLASHES ARE A THING.

Like seriously a THING.

And they aren’t flashes.

Not for me, anyway.

They are events.

And they sneak up on you like a menopause ninja.

A couple weeks ago I was talking to the mom of one of my swimmers after practice.

And out of nowhere, I started sweating like I was in the fires of hell.

Literal sweat pouring down my face.

You know, like the dude from Airplane.

I was so embarrassed, and I said to the mom,

“I’MREALLYSORRYI’MGOINGTHROUGHMENOPAUSEANDI’MHAVINGAMASSIVEHOTFLASHRIGHTNOW.”

And she was like,

“DO YOU NEED SOME WATER???”

Like I was about to burst into flames in front of her eyes.

Anyway, that happens all the time.

ALL THE TIME.

Especially at night.

And if being completely drenched doesn’t wake me up multiple times a night, then menopause-related insomnia does.

Just about every night I wake up at 2 a.m.

EVERY FUCKING NIGHT.

Sometimes I can get back to sleep relatively quickly.

But other times, especially when I’m super stressed out, it takes me a while to get back to sleep.

Last night at 3 a.m. I was still awake.

I contemplated getting up and doing some work, but when I tried to keep my eyes open, it felt like someone threw a pound of sand directly into my eyeballs.

So I tossed and turned and intermittently sweated for at least another 90 minutes — the last time I checked my watch it was 4:30 a.m. — and then eventually I fell back asleep.

And I woke up at 8 a.m.

I haven’t slept until 8 a.m. in years.

YEARS.

My hair is especially interesting in the mornings now that I wake up drenched multiple times a night.

And today about ten seconds after I woke up I realized I did not bring the garbage cans out to the road and it was garbage day today and the garbage guy usually comes at like 8:03 and it is not good if we miss garbage pick up because, well, we produce a decent amount of garbage and recycling.

So I ran out braless in my damp pajamas, my menopausal boobs flapping around and my hair resembling Nick Nolte’s in his mug shot, and as I dragged the recycling bin to the road I saw the garbage truck coming, and he emptied the first bin into the truck as I jogged, unsupported, to get the other bin, and dragged it up to the road and turned it around so he could pick it up with his garbage forcep thingies.

And I just sorta stood there all sweaty and droopy and insane looking.

And the garbage guy waved goodbye to me as he (quickly) drove away.

Then I dragged the cans back to the garage, and I walked back inside.

And that’s basically menopause in a nutshell.