I’ve been busy, preoccupied, traveling. Steve’s been pulling together an incredibly dysfunctional store that his company purchased, working about 70 hours a week and coming home exhausted. Even when I do see him, it’s like he’s not even here. Nor am I. Sigh.

Last week, I went to my professional organization’s conference in Tampa. This year, some of the magic was gone for me. Maybe because I helped plan the conference, so I knew how the sausage was made. Maybe because I go to these events and realize how understaffed my organization is, and that the great ideas I come back with will likely never see the light of day because of that. We did have an awesome event at the Don CeSar hotel, a pink gem of art deco beauty on the St. Petes beach. I walked along the shore for an hour. I love the ocean, and I could have pulled up a blanket and slept there for days. I called Steve as the waves washed across my feet, wanting to share a romantic moment across the miles. He was in the middle of some crisis at the store, and all he heard on my end was wind. Sigh.

The week before the conference was crazy. I worked close to 50 hours, then eight more on Saturday. I flew into Tampa on Wednesday, went with my steering committee friends to a Rays baseball game (snooze, I hate baseball, but the good company balanced out the boredom). On Thursday morning, I sat by the pool for 30 minutes and gave myself a sunburn on my chest, which was really, really dumb of  me considering I shipped 200 packets of sunscreen to the conference to pass out to attendees. (It’s melanoma awareness month.) The sessions were good, especially a keynote by the Disney Institute. By Saturday night, as a group of us strolled awkwardly through Ybor City among a sea of very young people (we were the oldest, whitest sore thumb), I started feeling a headache coming on. I spent most of Sunday in my room, curtains closed, nursing a migraine and missing the final day. I had exhausted myself.

I was so grateful when Steve finally arrived at DIA’s passenger pick up Sunday night. He took me to Red Robin for dinner. It was good just to be with him.

This week, Lauren’s been with me. I’ve felt like a bad mommy, renegging on promises to read with her at night because I just wanted to veg on the couch with my husband. So yesterday I burned 4 hours of comp time and picked her up at noon. We went to lunch, painted mugs at Color Me Mine, got mani/pedis. It was great to have this special time with her. And it was a great celebration of her recent achievement: We learned on Tuesday that she has earned a spot at her school district’s highly gifted magnet school. Third grade was tricky for her, and we were thinking about moving her to a new school for fourth grade. Ask and you shall receive. She is incredibly excited. So are we. I know every mother thinks her child is smart, but the tests tell me my child is very smart. I am so happy that she will have an opportunity to be around other kids who are like her, who are engaged with school and with learning.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, and it’s been a long time since we’ve had anyone over to our house because Steve freaks out if the house isn’t perfect–even if it’s my best friend or my family. But it’s what I want, so I invited my family and his over for a potluck brunch. I’ll be making some egg casseroles and sangria, and we’ll have spinach salad and croissants and coffee and juice and fruit salad and coffee cake and smoked salmon. And? The house won’t be perfect, and no one will judge us. I’m sure that when Steve gets home from work today he’ll get out the carpet cleaner. I’ll be grateful for whatever he does, because he is an excellent housekeeper and I am less so. Lauren will help me with the food and decoration. I love to entertain, and I’m really looking forward to this.

But I’m feeling exhausted. I think it stems from my near-constant period. In the middle of April, I had seven days in a row when I didn’t bleed, and I had a 20-day break in February, but other than the occasional day or half-day, I been bleeding continuously since December. Sometimes, I think I’ve stopped, then I stand up fast and woosh! These are the things no one ever tells you about perimenopause. I have ruined almost all of my underwear, a pair of pants. I walked through the grocery store with spot on the back of my dress the other day. Embarrassing. I have to plan my wardrobe around the questions is this dark enough and is this waistband loose enough to accommodate my belly? Because by the end of the day, I am so bloated that my size 14s fit like a size 0. Seriously, I gain two to three inches in my belly girth throughout the day, all bloat.

On Thursday, I’m meeting with herbalist and Maya Uterine Massage expert Shelly Torgove of Apothecary Tinctura. We’ll look at using herbs to balance my hormones and this special massage to correct issues with my uterus that may be contributing to this endless period. Then, in two weeks, I’m meeting with a new ob/gyn to talk about doing a uterine ablation–burning out the lining of my uterus to end my period forever. I’d rather have the holistic, non-invasive treatment be successful. I don’t have to have the surgery right away, but I am ready to put the option on the table. Considering my stance on that level of medical intervention, even considering it is a statement about how tired of this I am. The other option is a hysterectomy, and I’m not ready to go there yet.

I wake up tired every morning, then have a hard time going to sleep at night. I’ve been pretty good about my Back to Basics campaign–eating lunch regularly again, drinking more water (but still not enough–I need to find a honking big water cup that I need to fill only once or twice a day), but utterly failing on the bedtime thing. I have not been exercising, not even the shiva nata. I haven’t been dancing. I haven’t been writing either. I want to feel good again.