AnaUnpaused

I had one simple mission: go to Italy, eat my weight in pasta, and avoid any unnecessary stress. Ha! Instead, I got an international catastrophe , sprinkled with British Airways incompetence, a missing suitcase, and hormonal chaos that could rival any soap opera. The ETA Debacle: My Brain Betrayed Me Thanks to my sister booking flights through British Airways, I found out that even a layover in the UK requires ETA approval. Fine, fine—I’m a responsible adult, I read all the instructions, checked everything twice, and hit submit. Five minutes later—REJECTED. Cue the stress. Cue the hot flashes. Cue the existential dread. I frantically called British Airways, and they assured me I could redo it. I did—and miraculously, it was approved immediately . Crisis averted! Hormones stabilized! Or so I thought. The Betrayal at Check-In A week before departure, I called British Airways to check for any restrictions on my flight. They said none. Fast-forward to the airport—guess what? There was a ...

The time has come! Tomorrow, my two sisters and I embark on an adventure from Houston to Italy, and let me tell you—my hormones are packing just as much excitement (and chaos) as my suitcase. Hot flashes at the airport? Likely. Mood swings mid-flight? 100%. Asking myself why I packed three sweaters in a moment of delusional optimism? Oh, absolutely. While I’m thrilled for this trip, my heart tugs knowing our youngest sister isn’t joining us. She’s staying behind like the true boss she is, running her amazing meal prep business, Wolf Pack. (Houston folks, check them out on Facebook and Instagram!) And, of course, I’ll miss my own family dearly while I’m gone for two weeks. But I also know this experience is going to be incredible—full of laughter, adventure, and, if my hormones have anything to say about it, a few unexpected emotional rollercoasters. Italy, brace yourself. We're coming in HOT—literally.  

Pinch me! In just a few days, I'll be living my best “Under the Tuscan Sun” fantasy—except instead of finding myself, I’ll probably just find gelato. Lots and lots of gelato. That’s right, folks—I’m headed to Italy !  Before I gush about the Sistine Chapel and carb-loading on fresh pasta, let’s acknowledge the rollercoaster of emotions. I’m so excited, I could cry (which, let’s face it, might just be the menopause talking). But I’m also feeling a twinge of guilt about leaving my family behind. Why do I feel guilty when they’re literally cheering me on? Like, “Go, Ana! You deserve this!” Maybe it’s my hormones messing with me. Maybe it’s that Midwestern mom programming of “but who will feed everyone while I’m gone?!”. Or maybe—it’s the sheer terror of having FUN without them. The audacity!  Massive grazie to my big sister, aka Queen of Generosity, for funding this trip of a lifetime! And a shoutout to one of my younger sisters for coming along to make sure there’s no shortage...

  Ah, menopause—a time of hot flashes, mood swings, and the constant battle between wanting a snack and forgetting what you even walked into the kitchen for. But let me tell you, right now, my mood swings are on their best behavior because I’m counting down the days— nine days, to be exact —until I jet off to Italy with two of my sisters! It’s our first-ever “just us” trip, and I’m equal parts thrilled, nostalgic, and already concerned about how many gelato flavors I can sample before they cut me off. Now, before I continue, let me take a moment to sing the praises of my husband. This man deserves a medal for surviving my menopausal mood swings with grace, patience, and the occasional strategic retreat. He’s been my rock through every teary meltdown, random burst of laughter, and moments of irrational annoyance when the Wi-Fi doesn’t work fast enough. Honey, if I could pack you in my suitcase, I would—but only because you’d probably help me remember where I put my passport. Bac...