Well, those childbearing years went fast...

So, I found out today that I am...tum ta TUM!.....perimenopausal.

Ho. ly. fucking. crap. That slapped me upside the head today. Well, no, not really...the thought had been in the back of my mind since Karla suggested that I might be, back when I saw her last. Seems that headaches, suddenly poochier tummies, and biweekly visits from the monthlies, add up to the phenomenon that is "perimenopause," or the several years that lead up to the real deal.

I am 36 years old. Really? It's coming to an end, this mother time? Already?

I talked to my mom today, and she said that the same thing had happened to her, except that she had me when she was 38. She said that getting pregnant took away all the perimenopausal symptoms. And I'm half tempted to do it.

It's not that I was really, totally wanting another baby. I mean, I kind of want one, but it's not logical, we can't afford it, our lifestyle is pretty well geared to a small family, we want to travel, all that.

But I kind of feel like the donut cart is coming by and offering free donuts until they run out. You have a couple, and you're satisfied, but the cart keeps coming by and it's running out of donuts. You might not get another free donut. You say "Hey, I know I don't want one NOW, but I might want one LATER." So, you are really tempted to grab another donut off the cart, just so you can have it, even though you're not even convinced that that will happen. And even though you know you don't really need another donut anyway, your ass is fat enough as it is, you just had a salad, and eventually you'll have to put that donut through college, and that's just too much of a financial drain for this family. Shit, the donut cart is leaving!

Wow...my sartorial indulgences, haircut obsessions, and makeup tutorials this summer might have been a midlife crisis. Damn...I would really have hoped for better than that. Leaving to party in Bali. Suddenly changing careers to become a backup singer. At the VERY least piercing something.

On a completely unrelated note, check out this recipe. It comes from Fiesta! Favorite Recipes of South Texas, a cookbook (published in 1973) that Erin's mother found in her basement and sent over to us. It's great kitsch joy, and there are also some really fabulous-sounding things in there, particularly the desserts. Italian cream cake, chocolate cake with boiled frosting, that general idea. (I also really like the end section, "Dining Under Sail," for all those weekends you're out on your boat off Corpus Christi. Very helpful.)

But, I ask you, check out the Mexican Pralines recipe. Which of these items, to you, would not fit in with your typical caramelized sugar after-dinner treat?

1 lb dark brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 3-inch-long slice bacon
1 cup pecans

Seriously, am I nuts, and does everyone put bacon in those things? Is that some freaky Texas trick you play on people? "Oh, them Yankees just THINKS they're eatin' vegetarian. Haw! We put bacon in their DESSERTS!"

At another time, I will discuss the new bad habit I've developed to day. Malcontent Mama put it in my head that I must try paying someone to clean my house, and I tried it today for the first time. Oh. Lord. I am so damned deliriously happy that I'm sitting here right now and not mopping my floors frantically for the baby shower tomorrow. That is crack that I'm wanting to suck down the pipe some more.

Mags