This is My Body, This is My Blood

Areola Borealis

As one who always tries to find a silver spoon in the bottom of the metaphorical shithouse, I've been reminding myself there are some good things about approaching menopause to make up for waking up in a pool of sweat, breaking into tears over every news headline, peeing your pants when running up stairs, or forgetting what it was you ran up the stairs for. One of those good things is that you never again have to worry about getting pregnant.

Although I had my tubes tied (this always conjures a picture in my head of a neat little bow tied above my uterus) many years ago, there's always that tiny possibility the ribbon will somehow untie itself, allowing one over-achieving sperm to reach one geriatric egg who accidentally leaves the light on. Believe it or not I have friends who actually got pregnant ON PURPOSE in their forties. I do not understand this concept. I think when you start wearing diapers yourself (panty liners are just a nice name for Depends Lite) it's time to stop thinking about breeding. Raising a teenager at 46 is tough enough. I can't imagine parenting once your pubes start turning white. That's just messed up.

So last week when my nipples started turning brown I kind of freaked. All women know that darkening areola is one of the first signs you've got a live one in the oven. Forget immaculate conception, as soon as I saw the pink go out of my boobs, my perimenopausal brain immediately went into fear mode. Stepping out of the shower, I examined myself in front of a full mirror to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I wasn't. My nipples were definitely browner. WTF? As I massaged self-tanner into my legs before getting dressed for work, I pondered the potential headline in Weekly World News. Extreme Egg Fertilizes Self, Attaches to Aging Uterus. But wait. I had endometrial ablation last year. My uterus has no lining, no soft little mattress for the Extreme Egg, no fucking way with our without sperm.

All these thoughts (and many more) ran through my brain as my hands moved down my legs to rub a dollop of Coppertone into my bare feet. Then, in the moment when logic finally manages to invade idiotic thought processes, I froze as the porch light turned on over my blond head. With one foot on the lid of the toilet,  it suddenly occurred to me that as I applied self-tanner to my lower legs and feet my nipples rest against my thigh, thus absorbing a dose of fake pigment by default.

I am not pregnant, however this lack of critical thinking is one more proof I am indeed in the throes of hormonal retardation and believe me, as much as I love my kids,  I'll take a few brain (and bladder) leaks over eighteen years of sleepless nights and thankless days in a San Luis second.

Through the Looking Glass

"The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next..." Lewis Carroll

 

Recently I found myself standing beside a tiny door, vacillating between this ordinary world and  extraordinary possibilities on the other side.  I stood just outside the doorway, afraid to take a step. The Cheshire Cat grinned from inside, his toothy smile glowing in the darkness.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" I asked.
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where," said I.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

I worried I might have to shrink myself In order to pass through the door-- something I'm not inclined to do anymore. But rather than my becoming smaller, the Rabbit Hole expanded, became bigger in order to accommodate the size of my worries as I peered into it. I hesitated, then leaned forward and slipped into a freefall, down, down, down, drifting through layers and layers of wonder.  It seemed to go on forever until my feet finally landed in the soft center of The Rabbit Hole.

I don't know that I'll emerge anytime soon. I don't even need to know what happens next. Wonderland feels like home to me right now.