I’ve given birth three times.
Yes. Three.
And my youngest? Arrived when I was 42.
Apparently, that’s called a “geriatric pregnancy.”
I call it legendary.
Despite my husband confidently declaring,
“Women can’t get pregnant naturally after 40,”
— which, by the way, was both wrong and unnecessary —
I did exactly that.
High-risk pregnancy? Check.
Gestational diabetes? Check.
Morning sickness that felt like a full-time job? Absolutely.
But I survived.
And I gave birth to my little diamond.
In the middle of COVID lockdowns and endless, repetitive days,
this child appeared like an unexpected plot twist.
Now?
That “surprise” is the most precious thing in my life.
But then… my body said:
“Great job. Now let’s begin chaos.”
Hormones went absolutely feral.
If there were a show called
“Who Is This Woman and What Has She Done With Mom?”
—I’d be the main character.
One minute: anxiety.
Next minute: guilt.
Then irritation.
Then crying.
Repeat cycle. Several times a day.
To my kids — whom I love more than anything —
I delivered a full emotional package:
complaints, tears, frustration… occasional dramatic monologues.
And somehow, all that emotion eventually found its way to…
my husband.
And, of course, myself.
So I went to see a GP.
He looked like a man who had never experienced… anything like this.
He typed for about 7 seconds,
nodded, and declared:
“Pre-menopause.”
Just like that.
Like he was diagnosing a mild cold.
“Take this.”
Prescription. Done.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting there thinking,
Sir, my entire personality is glitching…
The gap between what I felt and how simply he explained it
felt like I was analog… suddenly dropped into an AI world.
For a brief moment,
I considered grabbing him by the collar.
He officially became the first man to trigger that feeling—
after my husband, of course.
Still… I accepted it.
Because at that point,
I was willing to try anything to feel like myself again.
So I started HRT gel and progesterone.
It’s been over a year now.
Do I feel dramatically better?
…not exactly.
But if I skip the gel?
Oh, I notice.
Immediately.
Like my body is filing a formal complaint.
I used to think I was just a deeply complex, sensitive human being.
Turns out…
I might just be a model that requires regular maintenance now.
Like… an MOT check.
And then I thought:
“Okay. Hormones alone aren’t the answer.”
So I decided to face whatever is happening inside me.
And naturally…
I chose the most aggressive option possible:
BODYCOMBAT.
https://www.lesmills.com/articles/all-you-need-to-know-about-bodycombat
To be continued
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