It takes a very special man to live with a menopausal woman. It takes a mature man, a man who doesn’t get rustled too easily, a man who can find the humor in the middle of the night when his partner is hot, cold, hot, cold, VERY hot, and cold again.
The man must be patient without being patronizing…loving without smothering…and most important…full of humor but without the hysterics when we are standing on the deck naked in the middle of a blizzard while watching the snowflakes sizzle and steam as they hit our skin.
I have found such a man.
I am a lucky woman.
Not only does he take my on-again, off-again middle-of-the-night war with the bed covers in stride, but when I’m in the throws of a rather intense hot flash he will actually go stand on the porch for a minute to get himself very cold and then crawl back into bed and snuggle against me, bringing my core down to normal.
He’s okay with my mood swings as long as I give him enough warning and when I need to be by myself in the room we call, “The Cave,” I know that he will be in very good company upstairs with Ben Bailey and Alex Trebec or some sports event.
He rubs my back when I’m bloated from NOT bleeding and encourages me to go to yoga because he knows it will make me feel better.
And it does.
But most important, if it’s been one of those days, he will bring me a bowl filled with brownies and whipped cream…the perfect way to end the day…with the perfect husband!