|image from: tv.popcrunch.com|
Apparently this hip new flavor of Ben & Jerry's is a seasonal item, here today and perhaps gone tomorrow. I hope I can say the same is true for these crazy night sweats I've been getting. I suppose I've been having them for months, maybe even longer. They seem to be my most frequent night visitor, surpassing Quinn by a nose. Or maybe a fluid ounce. I have not, however, broached this topic in daylight before now. Prepare yourselves...
It seems that it is acceptable to talk about Schweddy balls publicly, but not sweaty sheets. I'm willing to take one for the team here, ladies, and admit to experiencing this delightful symptom of advancing age. I wish I could remember the first time it happened... At the time I probably I discounted it as the result of too much wine, or lack of fresh air flow, or maybe even the soft flannel sheets. So, last night there was nary a drop of wine in my blood stream, the window was generously cracked open and my sheets were crisp cotton and guess what? I awoke absolutely dripping wet. I'm talking drenched.
Since I'm all about dispelling fallacies and exposing truths, I thought I would share this little personal experience with you, DelSo readers. Who but me is going to tell you about the wonders of perimenopause? The joys of parenting three boys who have poor aim? The magic of pharmaceuticals and surgery? And let's not forget general heartbreak and relationship implosion. Merde - maybe night sweats and menopause aren't so bad. At least there will be ice cream.