I Have Discovered the Phenomenon of Menunpause.

Today's word is:

menunpause n. (men' un 'pawz): the condition of going almost 12 cycles without a menstrual period, signaling the official onset of menopause, only to wake up one random morning with blood coming out of your wherever.

If there are any males still reading...sorry.

But dammit, I was so close.

Shut up, LeBron.

At 48, I realize I'm a few years shy of the average age of onset of menopause. Which is 51, which by the way I will never be 51 because I plan to stop aging next year, possibly by means of drinking snake venom or burning incense or something.

Chicken sacrifice, maybe.
This part of my life plan is still in the "research" stage.

But damn, I was ready to be menopausal. Perimenopause began a couple of years ago: hot flashes, female...um...dryness...skin issues. Yeah. Good times. Also, I gained a crap-ton of weight. Ugh.

Then, over the last year or so, I lost about 15 pounds. Granted, a good part of that was stress-related. You know, that whole selling-my-house, getting divorced, starting-my-life over stress. Hey, 15 pounds is 15 pounds. It wasn't anywhere near my fighting weight, but it was a bright spot in an otherwise dark goddamn period.

Shown here: 2015.

So here I am, a single, independent woman, happily perimenopausal. The hot flashes have faded, the emotions have leveled (OK, somewhat), and months have passed since I last experienced menses. I am cautiously optimistic that my period is, finally, an actual literal full stop.

And then...

Well, over the last couple of months I've regained almost all the weight I lost. I'm eating well: almost zero sugar, lots of lean protein, as many veggies as I can manage. Still, I'm packing on pounds like a fucking Kardashian after a bad breakup.

Insensitive AF, but I'm pre-menopausal.
Bite me.

Normally I would have assumed hormones were the culprit. Except, you know, I'm thisclose to being in menopause, so hormones should no longer be an issue, right?

Sigh.

Yesterday was my day to spend with Drummer Boy. We had a Cowboys game to watch. We had Ro-Tel dip (WITH SAUSAGE) to eat. Precocious Daughter was with her dad for the day.

We were going to get freaky, you guys.

We were going to get Snorkledorf.
Look it up, millennials.

Then I went to the bathroom.

If any guys are still reading...women periodically (swidt?) wipe themselves and see blood on the TP. We know that we're not hemorrhaging, we're just having a visit from Aunt Flo. We can handle this because we are awesome. It means our period has started.

For several decades, our reaction is: ho-hum, time to break out the tampons/pads until my uterus has emptied itself of non-essential baby-nurturing blood and tissue.

Again, we are awesome.

On the rag RIGHT NOW.

But you know what? When you're a certain age, and Aunt Flo hasn't visited since last winter, you're not expecting a random wipe to reveal the 28-day curse. You're just...not.

Go ask Alice, I think she'll know.

So let's sum up.

I now have to wait until at least October 2017 to declare myself in menopause.

My tenuous truce with gaining middle-age weight for no goddamn reason has been broken.

I did not get laid yesterday.

I love being a strong, independent, self-sufficient middle-aged woman...except for the part where I still have to buy Kotex like a teenager.

Menunpause, you guys. Make it trend. Support my cause. Pity me.

Fuck.