It's official: I'm through menopause. And I have so not enjoyed the ride. The stupid hot flashes -- sweater off, sweater on, sweater off, sweater on, repeat over and over until everyone around you thinks you're insane. The night sweats that soak the sheets, when you were freezing just hours before. The sleeping for a mere four hours only to have your eyes snap open, leaving you tossing and turning and watching the clock, until you fall heavily back to sleep -- ten minutes before the alarm rings.
Oh, yeah, it's been a blast.
But now that I'm on the other side, there's yet another joyous side effect of going through the change: I can't seem to get rid of a single ounce on my body. Seriously, it's as if my body won't let go of a single calorie that crosses my lips. "Hell, no, we won't give it up without a fight!" my hips seem to say, while my belly chimes in with, "We're loving the extra padding here!" and my thighs just sigh in agreement.
WTF?!? Used to be I could cut a few calories here or there, and a pound or two would slowly slip away. Sure, I'd go up and down a bit, but not by much. And I knew, if I were really desperate, I could cut out all chocolate (I know, sacrilege) for a week or two, and see results.
But now I stand on the scale, and the numbers only move in one direction, and it ain't down. Worse, I can't seem to stop myself from continuing to snack and eat and nibble and munch, even though I KNOW the outcome. The chips call my name from the pantry; the cookies coo from the shelf. Even as I diligently write everything down that makes its way to my stomach, my hand is reaching for a piece of chocolate.
I'm so not loving this side effect of never having to bleed from my vagina again. It better be worth it.