The Polka Dot Robe

        Perimenopause has her stinging tentacles in me. She’s everywhere all at once.  She’s stung  me with insomnia, weight gain, dry hair, dry skin, cluelessness, stupidity, no memory whatsoever, an abnormally large collection of hand towels and my all time favorite hot flashes…(hence the hand towels). And what the hell is this on my chin? Really? She’s got to mess with my face? Is that what I think it is?  My God, I’ll have to stock up on tweezers.  Perimenopause has cursed me with a nasty-ass hair on my chin!
         Her never ending visit has inconvenienced me…big time.  Since she’s here for the long haul, I’ve decided she needs a name.  Let’s see….she’s my nemesis, hell she’s all women’s nemesis!  Let’s face it the only name that fits is Bitch.  Yes she’s the mother of all Bitches, but she needs a more creative moniker because Bitch is a word that’s used too often in my opinion. 
         I’ve likened her to an octopus, seems fitting, but too hard to type.  Octo is just dumb. Pus is obnoxious.  Peri is too obvious.  Medusa.  We have a winner.  Medusa is in the house! 
         Medusa and I need to find a way to live in peace and harmony.  Gotcha!  You actually thought this was going to have a happily ever after ending didn’t you?  Peace and harmony and Medusa equal bullshit!  Ain’t happening’, not on my watch.  I’m going to beat her down.  I can smell defeat.  I will beat her.
         Since she’s with me everywhere I go, losing her in the dust is not an option. Those tentacles reach far and wide and she never let’s me forget she’s there.  This is not going to be easy, not by a long shot.  She’s definitely got the upper hand, especially since my once crafty mind seems to long for a coloring book and crayons…oh and a glass of wine.
         She’s ruined my morning commute. I use to enjoy the twenty five minute ride to work.  Music was once something that made me smile, and feel wonderful.  Now music is words.  Words that tell a story.  A story that makes me cry….every day! 
         
         Work is my reprieve.  I have to think.  I have to behave properly.  I’m a mature adult woman who can handle anything.  Anything but a coworker’s nine month old granddaughter!  I hold her and smile and play.  Suddenly, I can feel them….tears rushing towards my eyes, ready to make the leap onto my cheeks!  What the hell am I tearing up for? It’s just a baby for crying out loud! Ah, but Medusa knows I’m sensitive.  Holding that baby girl made me think about my sons.  My sons as babies, yes that’s the visual that triggered those damn tears.  Let them fall I say.  To hell with Medusa.
         I still have no idea how to rid myself of her.  This cursed Medusa with her treacherous plan to basically drive me insane.  I cannot let her win.  I must come up with a plan. A devious plan to drive her away.  A plan to rip her tentacles off of me one by one.
         Well, the plan still eludes me.  She’s got a frighteningly tight grip on me.  She’s putting up a damn good fight.  I’m beginning to lose hope.
Sadly, my bed is crowded now.  She firmly plants herself between me and my husband.  Don’t get me wrong this can be useful, especially during those times when I feel about as sexy as a clam.  She lies there mocking me, while I toss and turn for hours on end.  She’ll tease me by letting me get comfortable for ten minutes or so and than BAM…I’m sweating enough to fill a bathtub!  Flipping the pillow over and over does nothing to cool me down.  Kicking the covers off helps somewhat, but then Medusa fools with my internal thermostat and I’m shivering and soaking wet at the same time! 
         Medusa messes with my mind also.  While I agonize over every minute I’m losing sleep, there lays my husband snoring loudly.  There’s your peace and harmony right there in the form of my husband.  Surely Medusa has a hand in this too.  While I suffer, he sleeps deeply.  While he snores and sleeps deeply I become angrier and angrier.  So, to sum up my night, tossing and turning, wide awake, sweating, shivering all lending to my sleeplessness.  And in the morning, I’m mad at my husband because he slept like a baby!  (Try explaining to him why you’re angry….no, really, try it.  Medusa would laugh like hell)
         My plan has brought me to the only place where help is within reach, my doctor’s office.  The doctor greets me cheerily.  Sure, I think, ‘you’ve got everything to be cheery about…you can’t be any more than thirty years old.  You, my dear young woman, are not even a glimmer in Medusa’s eyes at this point.’  I panic for a second believing I said that aloud.  From the normal look on my doctor’s face I can see I haven’t fully gone over the edge yet. 
         She orders blood work.  Medusa is not even close to messing with me the way having blood drawn does, but that is an entirely different story. 
         My blood tests come back normal.  No issues with my hormones, everything checks out, except for my weight…yes doctor I will strive for three days of exercise thirty minutes a day, yes doctor I will cut out sweets…HELL NO DOCTOR I WILL NOT STOP DRINKING WINE!
         Well, that was a disaster, my ideas for ridding myself of Medusa are nil.  Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.  Maybe I should figure out a way to tolerate her. 
         My polka dot robe to the rescue!  When I’m tired I wear my polka dot robe.  When I’m sad I wear my polka dot robe.  When I’m sick I wear my polka dot robe.  It’s so soft and comforting, like a polka dot hug.  Why can’t I slip on my polka dot robe after a hot flash turned shivering session?  Why can’t I wear it when I’m frantically searching for that lone nasty ass hair on my chin?  It’s large enough to hide a few extra perimenopause pounds.  I can put it on after a bad day of feeling especially stupid and forgetful.  Hell, my polka dot robe can be worn while I’m coloring and drinking wine with Medusa!  Peace? No. Harmony? Never.  Polka dot robe….priceless.