I spent most of the day in a low, quarrelsome mood, feeling thoroughly sorry for myself for no reason at all. It felt like more than just a passing bad mood. It felt uncontrollable. This had better not be menopause. Grey hair, ok; a few wrinkles, fine. I'm just not ready for the uncomfortable waning of my reproductive system. I don't care about being able to bear children; I never wanted any, and I've never changed my mind. But I do mind, quite a lot, having to go through yet another all-body change. It's a rotten trick of Mother Nature.
Another rotten trick is this business of balding. Specifically, my husband's balding. It's much harder on me to see him aging visibly, even in tiny increments and in normal ways, than it is for me to view my own signs of aging. I don't know why. He's okay about it. As far as I can tell, he's completely oblivious to my body changes, god love him. But some days, just once in a while, I look at him and I think, "We're getting middle aged. We really are." It doesn't usually upset me, but it sets me to reminiscing about earlier times.
These are good times, though. I wouldn't trade this for the past. At least now I'm able to coast at a comfortable cruising altitude, knowing where I am, who I am, where I'm going in the short term, and happy with how I've arranged everything. So I guess the trade-off is worth it.
All the same, I hope I was just experiencing an unfortunate convergence of incidents yesterday, and that the depression wasn't a sign of anything but ordinary pitfalls, mistakes, and missed signals. I'd hate to think I'm going turn into Hot Flash Woman anytime soon. I'm still getting used to being called "ma'am."