Post #11
The Elephant in the Room (Me)
The Crone Intelligence Briefing · Classification: Highly Opinionated · Mission Status: Proceeding with Sarcasm
I know this shouldn’t bother me because I’ll feel like a shallow twat, but what the fuck I don’t care. (The DGAF-o-Meter works against me too it seems). BUT getting fatter during perimenopause bugs me, not just because I’m not liking how I look but because psychologically it means change.
I fucking HATE change.
I used to welcome it but as I get older and more set in my ways, I don’t like it at all! Old dog new tricks and all that. I’m one of those people who gets a new gadget and won’t go near it for a few weeks. Might be the technophobia but I think it’s the symbolism of change.
There my enemy sits still packaged up, then it gets unwrapped eventually. Then I look at the instructions, get fucked off and let it sit a while. Finally said item and I keep a respectful distance from each other, but still eye one another with suspicion. Like Eastwood and Van Cleef squinting and spitting tobacco globs onto my pristine kitchen floor.
After a while mistrust turns to apathy and we make friends.
So yes, that’s a long fucking winded way to say, change is not good for me. So imagine how I feel about THE CHANGE.
Short changed, that’s how!
When the trousers start talking
Imagine my first few peri years when I noticed my trousers were feeling a bit tight around the backside. Coming from a petite Crone with pancake ass, this was pretty damn disturbing.
Worse still when doing the laundry one day, I saw the gaping seam. Was my cellulitey ass making ME The Crone, the fucking butt of its joke?
Well FUCK me, it was.
If I sat wrong or made a sudden movement, the gentle rip not unlike a solid 6/10 fart, would fill the air. Like some clarion call of utter shame.
My body and my clothes were fat-shaming me.
I, whose ass-cheeks had been described once by copious stallions as, “two peaches in a silk hanky,” or “firm but juicy,” was veering into giant lard-ass territory.
If it grew any bigger there’d be shouts of “harpoon,” or “Jabba.” Even the meep meep meep of the reversing truck couldn’t match my ever-widening load.
But the rot had set in and was spreading to my belly. But with this slow march the denial grew. Eventually my boundaries were like shifting goal posts, constantly moving.
RockFUCKINGbottom
One day there I am stooping to get my undies on when I feel my under boob touching my ribcage.
A once toned ribcage where no amount of bending made my boobs touch it.
I had hit rockFUCKINGbottom.
(Or should that be rockFUCKINGass?)
I had got fat.
So here I am, fat ass, fat belly. More gaping pants than I care for and a deep sense of failure. It was then I knew perimenopause was in full swing.
And because I’m still having periods, I bloat like a river corpse during my period, then semi-deflate. Once upon a time I would have reverted to my slim belly.
But not now, I’ll be lucky to get away with a pooch.
Ah the days I lamented a little pouch; that’s me taught because now I have a whole sack! And it gets in the way.
What I say next will haunt me forever.
I LIKE ELASTICATED WAISTBANDS AND DRAWSTRINGS!
Woe betide my pants sit on my belly, they have to be on my hip and away from pressure.
Enough ignoring the elephant
STOP! Enough with the navel gazing and ignoring the elephant in the room.
Time to get down to it.
Why is this happening?
My diet’s still good (okay I crave more carbs than I used to). I don’t overeat. I cook from scratch. I don’t sit still — always on the move, this Crone gets bored easily so I have to be active. Inside, outdoors.
The only thing that’s changed is THE CHANGE.
Told you it was bad!
So why does perimenopause mess with weight?
When estrogen declines it slows down the metabolism and redistributes where fat is stored. So it often just dumps around the middle.
And this one will shock you.
Lack of sleep makes you fat!
It messes with hunger hormones, ghrelin the ‘feeling hungry’ hormone goes up and leptin the ‘feeling full’ hormone goes down!
Well bugger no wonder since I sleep very little.
On top of that add the lack of energy, motivation and sheer strength to do things like housework.
Don’t forget that as we get older muscle mass declines too and we all know that muscle = good. It burns fat and keeps the resting metabolism (BMR) higher simply by existing.
When muscle exits, useless (metabolically inactive) fat takes its place.
AND THAT, my friends, is how we get fat during perimenopause and often start looking like SpongeBob SquarePants!
So there IS hope after all.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my elasticated waistband and I have reached an understanding.
EMBRACE THE CHAOS