I’ve always believed in celebrating life’s milestones — big or small. Graduations, birthdays, anniversaries, new jobs, surviving a particularly brutal masters women’s water polo practice — you name it.
I am of the age when menopause is upon me, so I am entertaining unwelcome hot flashes, usually in the middle of dinner where I have the sudden urge to step outside and take off all my clothes so I can breathe. When I’m not tossing and turning at night, I wake up with night sweats and have to change my clothes. I am sure my moodiness isn’t helped by the lack of sleep. Aging has been very glamorous lately. My husband can tell you that he’s going through it, too — he has to live with me reporting the changes each day. The most surprising symptoms I’m having are that I crave certain foods, have gained weight in my abdomen, and I keep forgetting basic words. It’s as if I were pregnant.
Since my body is determined to act like I’m expecting, I might as well lean into it. If pregnancy comes with showers and gifts, why shouldn’t menopause?
I planned a baby shower. For myself. For a baby that doesn’t exist.
Well, I am expecting…sort of. Enter Claire, my food baby. I wrote to my kids in a journal before each of them was born. So, I decided to do the same with my food baby and share all about my baby shower plans.
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Dear Claire,
I’ve decided I need to write to you. Not only am I acknowledging you are the reason my tummy is growing bigger, but I am planning for the baby shower I will be hosting and I am so excited!
I briefly considered calling you Brie, because it sounds sophisticated. I also wanted to pay homage to my love of coffee and refer to you as Fee, but, it brought up thoughts of my bank so I didn’t go there.
My friends want me to be hip and call you Eclair of the pastry variety, and I briefly considered it. After all, we are in the digital age, and I could have spelled your name with a lowercase “e.” But I’m not a custard fan, so Eclair and eClair are a no-go.
Claire. I’m finding the name fitting, given my current state of thickness, and I’ve eaten as if I love Eclairs so there’s that. It goes back to The Breakfast Club when Judd Nelson’s character told Molly Ringwald’s character that Claire was a fat girl’s name. Thus, baby Claire.
I once read that you need to give people various levels of spend in your registry. Registering for pharmaceuticals, sunscreen, a gym membership, a new bike, and wine ought to do the trick.
I’m thinking that it would be nice to have a gender reveal at the shower too. We’d have a cake and instead of cutting a slice to find out the gender, my cake would simply reveal cheese.
The other day, you left me in the way that is natural to us humans in the bathroom, and my stomach went down a bit. I’ve tried to change how I eat and hope that happens again. If I keep this up, I’ll have to cancel the shower. I’m hoping this is goodbye, my little food baby.
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As I transition through this latest stage of life, and on this International Women’s Day,
I recognize that as women, our bodies are in a constant state of reinvention.
We grow, shrink, expand, contract, sweat, crave, swear, and somehow still go to work, take care of everyone, and laugh about it over drinks. It’s absurd, it’s frustrating, it’s amazing — and we kick ass. If we don’t celebrate it, who will?
Let’s all remember that aging — and all the ridiculous surprises our bodies throw at us — is best met with humor and a bit of ceremony.
