Perimenopause and Toddlers: A Love Story Nobody Asked For!

 So here I am. Forty-ish. Hot flashes on shuffle. Sleep is a rumor, and my one-year-old has decided now is the perfect time to start screaming for fun. This is not a drill. This is my life.

The Plot Twist Nature Never Warned Me About

Nobody tells you that perimenopause and toddlerhood can overlap. You think you've got a 20-year gap, right? Wrong. It's like Mother Nature looked at me and said, "Let's just layer these life stages on top of one another, and let's see what kind of black hole we can open." 

So now I'm simultaneously:

• Sweating through my shirt while trying to put pants on my toddler.
• Crying over a sentimental commercial while my toddler cries over the fork I won't allow her to stick in the outlet.
• Googling "perimenopause symptoms" while also Googling "why is my toddler's poop a weird shade of tan?"

The Hormonal Hunger Games

Toddlers are unpredictable. So is perimenopause. Put them together, and it's basically The Hunger Games but with more snacks.

• Toddler meltdown at Walmart? Check.
• Mommy meltdown at Walmart because she's standing in the freezer aisle, freezer door open because she's having a hot flash? DOUBLE CHECK.

At this point, the employees just walk by me, nodding their heads in pity; they've seen me before.

Sleep? We don't know her.

A typical night:

• 12 AM: Toddler wakes for the first time.
• 1 AM: I awake in a sweat puddle.
• 2 AM: Toddler cries because the moon was too bright.
• 3 AM: I'm wide-awake, wondering if I returned a certain book in the fourth grade or if geese experience "goosebumps"?
• 5AM: Toddler raises up in her crib like a vampire would rise from their coffin.
• 7AM: Toddler and I are watching Bluey for the 587th time while sharing Fruit Loops from the box.

The Real Villain in This Story: My Body

Here's the thing: my body can't decide what season it's in. Is it fertility? Is it menopause? Is it pure hormonal rage? Meanwhile, my toddler's body is 100% committed to chaos. Together, we are practically a grenade about to explode.

But You Know What?

There's also magic. Tiny toddler kisses between hot flashes. Little hands patting me like, "You're doing great, mom." A sweet voice that calls out for "mama" reminds me of why I cherish every moment.

Final Thoughts:

Parenting a one-year-old while going through "the change" is proof that God has a sense of humor, and honestly? I laugh about it too...as soon as I stop crying.

To the new moms still figuring it out, and to the moms who thought they were finished, but now find themselves battling hot flashes and toddler tantrums, you belong here. Drop a comment with your stage of motherhood so we can remind each other that no matter where we are, we're all in the same village.

I've written my first children's book, Sophia and the Secret Garden, a whimsical, heartwarming story full of adventure, and the reminder that no matter how old you get, you are always a kid in the garden.  You can find the book here: https://amzn.to/45oGZPN

What I wish I Could Tell My Older Children

 I had another baby at 40.

And with her, something in me settled. I feel calmer. More present. I don’t panic every time she cries. I don’t question every decision. I feel like I know what I’m doing.

But that peace comes with something I didn’t expect.

Guilt.

Because at night, when the house is quiet and my thoughts grow loud, I wonder…

Did my other kids get the best version of me?

Or did they grow up with a mom who was just trying to survive?

 The Unspoken Hurt

When I think about my older kids, I remember being overwhelmed, unsure, anxious. I loved them with everything I had, but I didn’t always know how to show it. Not in the right way. Not in the way I can now.

Back then, I was younger but more afraid.

Quicker to react. Slower to rest.

Too caught up in being what I thought a perfect mom was, to just be a present one.

And now that I’m parenting again with experience, I feel something else creeping in.

Regret.

 The Guilt I Carry

No one told me that having another baby could bring healing… and heartache.

Because this time, I whisper more. I slow down. I let the mess stay a little longer if it means soaking in a moment. And I think, Why couldn’t I do this before?

And the guilt hits hard.

Will they remember the stress?

The tired mom? The distracted mom?

Will they ever feel like she got more of me than they did?

 What I Know Now

Here’s what I’m starting to understand.

I wasn’t a bad mom back then.

I was a becoming mom.

I was learning how to love through exhaustion.

I was fighting through anxiety, through pressure, through the weight of trying to do everything right.

And I may not have known what I was doing all the time, but I loved them with everything I had.

Even when I was broken.

Even when I was unsure.

Even when I didn’t feel enough.

 A Letter to My Older Kids

If you ever wonder…

If you ever question…

Yes, I was tired.

Yes, I was stressed.

Yes, I was overwhelmed.

But you were never unloved.

Not for one second.

If anything, you were the ones who taught me how to be the mom I am now.

You helped me grow into her.

And for that, I owe you everything.

 Closing:

I still lie awake some nights wondering if I got it all wrong.

But then I remember that motherhood is a journey.

And love — real love — leaves room for imperfection.

So no, maybe I wasn’t perfect back then.

But I was yours.

And I loved you then, just like I love you now.

Maybe even more  because now I can look back and see what a gift it all was.

Even the parts I didn’t get right.

If this post hits home for you, subscribe to Momma: The Reboot, at 40 for more honest, healing stories like this.

And please  share this with a friend who needs to know they’re not alone.

We’re all doing our best. And some days, that’s more than enough.

I’m Not JUST Your Mom!

 I’m not just your mom.

I’m a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and a niece.

But more than anything…

I’m a person.

I was once a little girl who loved to laugh, who dreamed of becoming a princess, and who ran to her own mommy when she was scared. I was a kid trying to find my way. I was a teenager stumbling through this crazy world, making mistakes and trying to learn from them.

And then I became a mom.

I didn’t know how to care for something so tiny, so fragile. I didn’t come with a manual or a blueprint. I had to grow with you—learn with you. Every new stage of your life was a new stage for me too.

Yes, I’m your mom.

But I’m also still just a woman learning every day. Still figuring things out. Still getting it wrong sometimes. Still dreaming. Still healing. Still growing.

So the next time you look at me—when I forget something, when I say the wrong thing, when I seem overwhelmed—I hope you’ll remember: I’m not just your mom.

I’m a whole person.

One who loves you more than you could ever know,

But one who’s still just trying to get it right.

This is new for me too.

If you can relate leave a comment below-and remember: you’re not just a mom. You’re a whole person. 

The Truth About ‘Me Time’

Let’s be honest—I get overstimulated a LOT.

I’m a mom. I’m a wife. I juggle emotions, schedules, meals, laundry, meltdowns (mine and theirs), and about 47 tabs in my brain at any given moment.

So when life feels too loud, too full, too much… I go to my husband and sit in his lap.

Yes, like a child.

Yes, I know how that sounds.

And no, I don’t feel silly about it anymore.

Because that man? He is my person.

My grounding place.

The one who sees me holding everything together—and gently reminds me I don’t have to.

Not alone.

My Version of ‘Me Time’ Looks Like This:

It’s not always a bubble bath.

It’s not a weekend away.

It’s not a locked bathroom door and a candle (though, let’s be real, I wouldn’t say no to that either).

Sometimes, me time is crawling into his lap after a long, chaotic day.

Sometimes it’s just sitting there quietly while he holds me and tells me I’m doing a great job.

It’s the moment I get to stop performing and just… exist.

No expectations. No responsibilities. No noise.

He’s the Calm in My Chaos

This man walks through the door after working his own full day and still—still—chooses to take part of my load.

He makes dinner when I can’t.

He gives me the softest space to land when I’m emotionally bruised.

He doesn’t tell me to “take a break”—he makes sure I do.

And that’s love.

That’s partnership.

That’s me time, gifted to me in the shape of his arms.

Your ‘Me Time’ Might Look Different—And That’s OK

Maybe yours is journaling with your coffee.

Maybe it’s hiding in the pantry with a chocolate bar.

Maybe it’s walking around Target aimlessly.

The point is: You’re allowed to have it.

You need to have it.

And it’s not a luxury—it’s mental health maintenance.

So Here’s Your Permission, Momma:

Take five minutes.

Even if it means crawling into a lap like a kid.

Even if your to-do list says otherwise.

Even if your version of “rest” doesn’t look like anyone else’s.

You are allowed to feel held.

You are allowed to rest.

And if no one has told you lately—you’re doing an incredible job.

If this hit home—even a little—please share it with another mom who might need permission to rest. 💛

And if your version of “me time” looks different than mine, I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment or message me—I see you, Momma.

You are not alone.

And you don’t have to hold it all alone, either.