I remember when I was pregnant…all I saw were pregnant women. I remember whenever I got a new car…all I saw on the road were similar-type cars. When I had a mustang I noticed all other mustangs.
Now that I’m in the beginning throws of menopause, menopausal thoughts take up many waking moments of my day…and night. But unlike the solid object of a car or a pregnant woman, I can’t just look around and see other menopausal women.
Or can I?
Other menopausal women will attest to the fact that one of the “benefits” of going through this remarkable change is that our middles decide to go “out” when we really want them to go “in.” The harder we hold in our stomachs, the more tired we become. If you see a woman in her 50’s looking wretched by 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon, I guarantee she is exhausted from trying to hold in her stomach from the time she hit the ground running at six in the morning to when she's finally on her way home after long day.
Trying to hold in your stomach for 10 hours straight takes incredible will and strength. Combine that with a full-time job, kids who may be young adults but are not really grown up…yet…a husband who has kicked up the sex-thing because he feels he has to have as much sex as possible before he reaches the age where his parts don’t work anymore and you have the perfect recipe for a stomach blow-out.
One menopausal friend of mine says, “Sometimes I hold in my stomach so hard I think it’s going to come out my asshole.”
To which I say, “Right on sista!”
So now when I bounder around the world outside, all I see are the stomachs of women. I don’t even bother to look at the stomachs of people under 35 because I know that those women aren’t even yet thinking about why they can’t fit into their $200 designer jeans anymore.
You know the jeans I’m talking about…the ones that took you months to save up for because you finally let the desire to own a pair of well-fitting, great looking jeans take over the guilt that comes with buying jeans that are not from Target.
In my case, it was two weeks after I spent too much money on those jeans that the menopausal body took over. All of the sudden the $200 jeans refused to slip over my thighs let alone travel up my hips.
So when I’m out and about and I see a woman of my age wearing an elastic skirt or a billowy blouse, my eyes immediately go to her middle and most of the time I can tell that she is a kindred spirit…and has a kindred tummy.
“I know just how you feel,” I say to myself as I drive past her in the car, deciding whether or not to unzip my Target jeans because all of the sudden my stomach grew six inches from just eating a strawberry while on my way to work.