Menarche and Menopause
Recently, it occurred to me that as I’m getting used to the mindfuck of midlife and seeing my menstrual cycles dwindle away, my daughter’s relationship with her body and hormones (aka pre pre menstrual syndrome, tween angst) is just getting started. Honestly, until I started on this menopausal journey I hadn’t given the oddity of our waxing and waning much thought.
It’s funny how similar menopause and pre menstrual syndrome really are though. Our erratic mood swings, headaches, and sudden concerns about our bodies changing are so strangely in synch. My daughter and I talk a lot. Her excitedly near ten yearold self asks dozens of questions about when she’ll be getting boobs, start shaving, and having her period while I’m quietly panicking about losing some of these staples in many female identities.
And it makes me wonder…
Midlife: Menopause, MENARCHE, & Mayhem?
As she ascends into this coveted status of being a young starlet and beautiful maiden, how will I deal?
For a good part of my life so far, certain features have been my crown. Take my breasts, for instance. Since I was a teen, I’ve vacillated between a steady C or D cup. The gals have been perky and made my curves the hourglass that they are. But as I talk to older, more veteran midlifers, I recognize these too will begin to change - sag and flatten no matter how many push ups and pec-heavy workouts I do.
Then, I think about my periods.
“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”
Some women celebrate the day they stop having them. They either take hormones or get a hysterectomy to minimize the inconvenience or just avoid them altogether. And either are all fine and good in my court - I’m not really concerned with other women’s relationships with their menstrual cycles. However, when I think of my own, I’ve come to quite enjoy them - they’ve reminded me of who I am, where I am, and pinpointed my phases of life quite clearly.
When I first started my period I was young - 10, in fact. But it wasn’t until I was thirteen or so that I had a steady and dependable cycle, and that’s about the time that I really saw myself as a young woman and future mother.
Which is what I suppose periods have always symbolized for me: motherhood…
I wanted to be a mom since I was young. Not for the status or hierarchy, and certainly not for the pay grade. I wanted to bring life into the world and then be the best version I thought a mother could be. Fortunately, for over a decade that’s exactly what I’ve been: a mom. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve been proud - but all as the version of womanhood I’ve envied most.
As my daughter grows closer to that role, I know it is my job - and natures reminder - to pass the torch. It’s the cycle of life in just about every animal kingdom to leave the throne gracefully (or be overthrown). And I believe when the time comes, I will. Though I doubt without tears and some longing.
The birth of each of my kids was special - my oldest, my son, was my first everything. He was a healthy plumper weighing in at 9 lbs., 1 oz. And my youngest, another beautiful son, was my last. But my middle babe, my daughter…well, the whole experience was different. It’s hard to describe without sounding biased, but I can’t help it.
My daughter’s birth was perfect.
“Is she…is it…a girl?” I asked.
When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter I didn’t believe the technician. I was stunned - not from disappointment, but shock. All my life I wanted a daughter. I’d dreamed of her - made her blankets and hats. I imagined us wearing matching dresses and gardening together, baking and singing and dancing - everything that represented “feminine” and “empowerment” to me. Yet, there I was in small office with a dollop of K-Y on my abdomen and a weird looking black and white image staring back at me on the screen.
Everyone laughed at me when I told them I wasn’t going to get my hopes up. What if she was a he? Would I be disappointed? Probably. I’d probably feel like my hopes and dreams of having a daughter would be crushed - even if only for a moment. And regardless, I wanted whatever gender child I was carrying to know they were loved.
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” my midwife replied.
Then my birthing pains started…
Is there really such thing as a perfect birth? To me, there was, and i’ve made sure she’s known that her whole life.
My contractions started at exactly the same time my first born son’s started precisely 3 years before: 2:30 a.m. I woke in a daze, hungry, but with an equal desire to empty my bowels. Within an hour after I relieved myself and gobbled down a bowl of Cheerios (my staple food for all three of my pregnancies), my contractions kicked in. The difference between the birth of my daughter and my son however, was the location. We had my oldest at a hospital, and while it was a fine team of professionals and everything happened as it should, I desperately wanted to have a home birth. I envisioned myself mimicking my ancestors: squatting and grunting as a I pushed my beautiful baby earthside.
Fortunately, my midwife, husband, and mother-in-law helped me make my dream a reality. It was my son’s 3rd birthday, and while I couldn’t do anything to delay her entrance, I knew my mother-in-law would keep him entertained and help him make a cake while the rest of us remained upstairs waiting for the day’s main event.
Mothers and daughters are the beginning and ending of one another. They represent the true cycle of life and death.
At 9:45 a.m. - almost 9 hours sooner than my eldest - my daughter was born. “Is she…is it a girl?” I asked. My eyes were squeezed shut while I made my last push, and honestly, I was so hopeful, I was a little afraid to look. “Why don’t you see for yourself,” my midwife replied, and she handed my freshly wrapped bundle to inspect.
I studied her face - so beautiful, so perfect. I took my time touching her cheeks, kissing her forehead, and counting her fingers before I unwrapped her.
When I saw she was a girl, I blinked back tears. What had I done to deserve this honor? The labor was quick, there was not a single hiccup in the process - except for my occasional swearing when a contraction particularly took my breath away.
Some say there’s no such thing as a “perfect birth,” but to me, my daughter was just that. She gave me the gift of a birth I’d dreamed of playing a part. She gave her brother his most treasured gift - he still says his 3rd birthday was his favorite (and he’s 12!).
My daughter’s birth was my beginning, in a way. When I had my son, it was the beginning of my motherhood, but my daughter was the beginning of my life’s purpose. Mothers and daughters are the beginning and end of one another. Her birth commanded I accept the reality that my maiden days were truly over - and she would pick up where my spirit in that realm left off.
I suppose her upcoming menarche will be a similar transition. She’ll begin her cycles leading her closer to motherhood - should she choose to assume that role for herself. And my menopause will conclude my own. I’ll hopefully have taught her everything I know about youth and the honor of carrying (and raising) a new generation.
I’m not afraid of my daughter joining the sisterhood of being a woman. But I do wish I knew how long I’d get to be there with her.
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