A very realistic recap of parenting with perimenopause.

As a perimenopausal mum of two toddlers, there are a lot of moods to manage in my house. Let's just say my children aren't the only ones losing it over things as trivial as banana-related offences: the banana was cut, wasn't cut, peeled without permission, is too sticky or "broken." 

Having had my children at 43 and 45, I'm deep in the trenches of both early parenthood and perimenopause. It's not for the faint-hearted. It feels like running the parenting marathon in a major deficit: without enough sleep, rest or sustenance, while injured and likely half-dressed and really not in the mood for any of it. 

Watch: How to spot the first signs of perimenopause on Mamamia's Well podcast. Post continues below.

Most mornings, I wake feeling like I have a hangover (without having had the fun beforehand). Thanks to my hormones, which have been ruling my body since my first pregnancy, I'm exhausted, anxious and agitated with a headache and aching muscles and joints. I drag my body out of bed with a "mummy needs to stretch" and, if I'm lucky, do so with my three-and-a-half-year-old driving cars over me and my 18-month-old perched atop me.

I know I'm supposed to have a high-protein, high-fibre breakfast within half an hour of waking and definitely before coffee to help my perimenopausal symptoms, but I'll be lucky to get a sip of water before madness ensues. Somehow, someone is already overstimulated, starving, grumpy or tired, and that someone is me: the supposed Calm Leader. 

I'm already sweaty as we enter into the epic toddler-versus-parent battle, known simply to most grown-ups as "getting ready." The inexplicable resistance to eating, toileting, brushing teeth and getting dressed (things I would love to be able to do), makes me twitch with agitation and I sigh deeply, a sound my younger child has taken to mimicking (the older one prefers, "oh my God" and "come on dude"). I'm drained already, and we haven't even left the house. And it's only 8am.

Image: Supplied.

Perimenopause reminds me of what it felt like to be a moody teenager, except now I have loads of responsibility and can't just sulk in my room. I have to adult and, what's more, I have to parent. Doing either of those things is so difficult when my hormones are having the rollercoaster ride of their life.

Every day I feel like my period is due, but who knows when it will show up and when it does, there is still no relief from the premenstrual symptoms. Other symptoms like low mood and sleep disturbances (I already have two of those, four if you count the cats) are easier for me to manage. Along with mood swings and irritation, brain fog is one of my worst symptoms. I walk into rooms often without remembering why, I misplace my phone about four times a day and lose my thought whenever interrupted, which happens about 100 times a day.

My partner reminded me the other day, when my impatience at talking to him about a few important things was taking too long, that not everything needs to be "purpose-driven." He said he found me "professional." It wasn't meant as a compliment. The thing is, I just don't have the time, desire or patience for chit-chat.

In my "spare time," if there is nothing else I absolutely have to do, I want a moment when I am not considering someone else. So, I am abrupt. I've entered a no-BS stage of life.

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In the immortal words of Melani Sanders, who founded the We Do Not Care Club (a club for perimenopausal and menopausal women), "we don't care that people around us think we got shitty attitudes. That's not on us. That's on them. If you don't like my attitude, get out of my face then."

As someone who used to care so much (too much), my current care factor is low. I'm not making the "wake up" muffins an Instamum promised will ensure a seamless morning. It won't, even if I can get my kids to eat them. I don't care that the laundry isn't folded (and likely inside out). It's clean and it's in your drawer. Amazing. That isn't a toothbrush and a tennis ball in the fruit bowl. It's a still life. The fort over there isn't something to be tidied up. It's additional guest seating. Those toys aren't a trip hazard. They are a parkour course. 

When my threenager is following me around the house while hitting me and screaming "Go away mummy!" for the fifth time that day, old me (who ironically was younger me) would say, "oh darling, I know you don't mean that." Peri me says, "I'd love to."

Want more peri content? Listen to the full episode of Well, your full-body health check. Post continues below.

When, after the third tantrum of the day, I impulsively shout, "Why do we need to have a meltdown about everything?" and he shouts back, "I DON'T KNOW," I am immediately hit with incredible guilt and shame. I hug his little body and apologise and a tidal wave of empathy washes over me.

He, just like me, is having a hard time. He sometimes just isn't in control of his emotions and behaviour, and I can relate. Just like I need to manage my toddlers' stimulation, energy and blood sugar, it is a reminder that I also need to manage my own.

Peri parenting can be brutal, but the gift of it is that when you don't have much left in you to give, you focus your attention only on what you truly care about. And as much as they frustrate and annoy me (what doesn't at the moment), I love and adore them fiercely and am so damn lucky I get to do this.

Sassica is a freelance writer who, when she is not kid-wrangling, writes health, parenting and other lifestyle articles and personal essays. You can find her on Instagram.

Feature image: Supplied.