A lifestyle blog from a forty-something mum

Showing posts with label Forty-something. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Forty-something. Show all posts

Tuesday, 24 May 2016

A Menopausal Rant

MenopausalI should warn you that this blog is a rant about all things menopausal. Feel free to not read any further if you wish.

Still here?! Don't say I didn't warn you...

I suspect that the menopause has been creeping up on me for some time. A bit like an unwanted parasite that's impossible to fumigate, worm, or delouse. My periods stopped in January and I'm OK with it - but I miss the months being punctuated by two days of PMS and severe chocolate biscuit cravings. Now I crave sugary snacks all of the time and the PMS never goes away.

I am also...



Ache all over.



Turning into my mother.

I am forty bloody eight.

And no, I wouldn't want to share a house with me either.

I cried the other night because the cat was too adorable. I never cry. OK, it's something that happens maybe, once a year (if that). I suspect that the family pet feels my pain. She came over for a cuddle and fell asleep in my arms. The cat was too gorgeous for words. I may have cried.

Every day is a bit like wading through treacle while my eyes are propped open by matchsticks. Everything gets on my nerves. Inconsiderate drivers. Next door's dog. Indecisive people wandering aimlessly around the supermarket and getting under my feet as I attempt to shop in a hurry and go home again before getting cross and/ or having a flush. People not looking where they are going while texting. Birds twittering too early in the morning. I was even cross when that boat wasn't named Boaty McBoatface. I loved that name. It was one of the few things I had genuinely found hilarious in ages.

Yes, I'd probably laugh at me too.

He's a patient soul my husband, which is just as well as I am irritated by the way he eats ice cream, can't answer a simple question and still has that lone nasal hair dangling from his left nostril that I told him about weeks ago. I know I'm being unreasonable, which is probably why he's developed an interest in gardening (I tend to skulk in the house). He has taken his usual stance and mostly humours me. My new name is Little Miss Stroppy. Still, on the positive side, the garden is coming along rather nicely.

I want to be left to my own devices in a room filled with books and a nice box of chocolates that are calorie-free with the heating on full blast, or an air conditioner - depending on whether I'm mid-flush or shivering in flannel pyjamas, bedsocks and a blanket. I want to be able to do stuff only when I actually want to do it. Yes, I know that's not realistic... I am unreasonable, not deluded.

In real life I've been avoiding people who get on my nerves. I am sorry if you're one of them. It's not you, it's me. Normal service will resume just as soon as I'm post menopausal, or have caved and started taking HRT. I was so going to get on with it. A bit like breastfeeding twin babies, not opting for pain relief during labour and being an earth mother. Ha ha, bloody ha... none of these things happened either.

Apparently symptoms can last anywhere from two to five years. I worry that I might have committed murder by then. I have been trying to self-medicate with a concoction of sports performance vitamins, extra strength cod liver oil capsules and Quiet Life tablets. This is not going well.

I have to remind myself to behave when I'm in company. I have developed a kind of internal dialogue that keeps me in check while I'm out, but when I arrive home there is no release and my hormones (or lack of them) run amok, turning me into a gremlin.

I go to bed and have no trouble going to sleep, but wake up when my husband as much as breathes and immediately want to swat him with a rolled up magazine. It will be hours before I go back to sleep and if he as much as turns over I am immediately huffy.

You know that thing when people ask how you are? What would happen if a person said, 'Actually, I feel rubbish, but thank you for asking. Right now I am probably not the best company - but call me in two to five years and I'll see how I'm fixed.'

If you're still here, then I can only apologise but I did warn you. Thank you for reading.

Rant over. Books online appointment with GP and hopes that 'normal' Izzie will return soon.If anyone has any useful menopausal tips apart from, 'move to Outer Mongolia until you are symptom-free,' I would really appreciate them.

Copyright ©2016 Izzie Anderton

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Friday, 18 March 2016

No Photos Please...

No photosThis is a post I've been meaning to write for a while. I've done a lot of blog reading this week and it was refreshing to find a fellow blogger who doesn't like having her photo taken. Thanks Debs for your honesty and inspiring me to finally get around to writing this. You can read Deb's original post here if you wish.

As bloggers I guess we're supposed to feel comfortable in front of the camera. I'm filled with admiration for those who are happy to smile and post their picture-perfect snaps online. I only wish I could be so relaxed and happy to join in.

It's just that I really don't like photos with me in them. Never have. Never will.

That explains why there are exactly 4 photographs of me on the entire blog. Instead, you're more likely to find pictures of me disappearing into the distance...

Luxemborg gardens, Paris

Or admiring something in a window...

Laduree, Macaron, Paris

This is the best my husband can manage.

I'm confident in all other aspects of life - I have lots of friends, I'm happy to socialise in groups and also enjoy my own company. At work, I talk to the teens in my charge about anything and encourage them to be the very best they can be. Nothing really fazes me all that much to be honest.

Get a camera out though, and chances are I'll do a runner.

My daughters on the other hand, photograph beautifully. As I'm usually the one behind the camera - this provides the perfect excuse to avoid being photographed at all - yay! I don't however, have permission to post photos of them on the blog - that is their decision to make and I am more than happy to respect it. There are snaps of my daughters all over the house though, and they are truly lovely.

Over the years I've done this...

1. Accidentally 'borrowed' memory cards and deleted any images that have me in them. Family are becoming wise to my antics and have learnt to email one another with the photos before I can get my mitts on them.

2. For years my photo ID for work was concealed by a photo of our cat - fortunately no one noticed.

3. The bio photo for the blog was taken on a professional photo shoot - I loathed every minute of the experience. Over 200 photographs were taken and I struggled to find 3 that I was even remotely happy with.

And I've never ever done this...

1. Taken a selfie.

How scary is the camera on Skype exactly?! As my daughters tend to Skype late into the evening, I am sans make-up and realise that I am turning into a cross between Jabba the Hutt and my mother. Sorry Mum x

It wasn't always this way. This 1973 snap of me aged 5 is kind of OKish - but I still don't like my smile.

Izzie Anderton, aged 5, schooldays
Please tell me I'm not the only one who doesn't like being in front of the camera?

Copyright ©2016 Izzie Anderton

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