Autism & Menopausal Mothers

The menopause sucks.

There's just no way of dressing it up.

But if menopause sucks, going through it while my autistic son goes through puberty sucks even harder.  The politely coined 'peri-menopause' has stopped tapping lightly on my door is and now bulldozing the entire house down.  

It's really enjoying itself.

I'm OK with the whole getting older thing.  It's quite nice not being dead, for example.  And I also seem to get away with pretending I know what I'm talking about (people confuse maturity with wisdom all the time, which is hilarious).  Plus I care less and less about social rules and don't waste time (anymore) worrying what people think of me.  This care-free attitude seems to be inversely proportional to my proximity to death, but life is a double-edged sword like that.  None of this bothers me too much.

It's my body's reluctance to age in a civilised, orderly fashion that's not pleasing me.

This is My Menopause........

Movember is for amateurs.  I spend more time plucking hairs from my face than I care to admit.  I could easily grow a fulsome, luxuriant beard by tea time.

I'm buying enough lube to make my pharmacist wonder if he should be envious of, or terrified by, my sex life.  It's dry enough down there to start a bush fire.  Pun totally intended.

My skin is having a nervous breakdown trying to decide if it's going to have acne, fine lines, wrinkles or total jowly collapse.  So it's doing all of the above.

All of this is crap, but it's manageable crap.

But it's the hot flushes that are the killer.

Hot flushes are sneaky, ninja fuckers that assail me without warning or consistency.  It's hard to appear like a competent parent when my shirt has grown enormous blooms of sweat, and I could wring half a pint of perspiration from my knickers.  Waking up at 2am with my dripping  pj's welded to me leaves me cranky and unfocused.  There's also nothing sexy about wanting to throat-punch my lovely husband for cuddling up beside me in bed, just because I could power a small nation with the heat emitting from my ridiculous body.   

Being strung out by mercurial hormones does not lend itself to dealing with a stinky, horny, autistic teen with more mood swings than a bipolar jack rabbit.  And I'd also quite like to remain married, so there's that.

So I made an appointment with a menopause specialist and have started HRT.  It's got all the lovely health benefits of reducing  the risk of cardiovascular disease and osteoporosis, but mostly it's to stop me feeling like a miserable bitch.  And to help me manage Finian's autism a little better (....and also the marriage thing).

We need to look after ourselves, so we can look after our loved ones.  When there's a way to make life a little easier, it makes sense to go there.  Life is hard enough.

There are no prizes for martyrdom......... although I'd happily accept a nice grooming kit for growing the most impressive beard.