Today my period arrived.

It’s been six weeks since the last one.

Once, long ago, I’d have been sweating on my period arriving, anxiously awaiting confirmation that I was not, after all, pregnant. On its arrival, the relief would wash over me and then life would carry on as before.

Less long ago, I would wait on my period, hoping that it wouldn’t come. ?Hoping that those little, almost imaginary, whispers of nausea meant that I was, at last, pregnant. ?All those months of waiting for my period not to come, only to be dissapointed yet again. ?Until one day, one week, I knew. ?I was pregnant!

Now I’m in a new place.

Sometimes it comes and sometimes it doesn’t. So far, mostly it does, but not when I’m expecting it. My calendar has little marks drawn on random dates and I’ve begun to note how irregular its arrival is.

I used to be able to plan ahead, within a week, to be be prepared. I used to know why I was emotional or clumsy or really angry, a few days in advance of the bleed.

Things are changing.

I’ve been to workshops and talks, read lots of books and blogs.

Menopause is coming.

Watch this space!