Nope, still not pregnant.


My favorite customer came up to me at the kiosk at the library. “Hi, how are you? The printer needs paper.” As I bent down to retrieve some printer paper, he gave me a big smile, pointed at my tummy and asked, “Are you having a baby?” This is the second person within a span of 3 months who asked me if I was pregnant. So, obviously I look pregnant but I am not. I said to him, “Nope, I am just fat.” You should have seen his face. I wanted to laugh.

Since I was too lazy to do laundry, I had to wear a shirt whose fitting has become somewhat snug over the last few months. It used to look good on me when my girth was not bulging as much as it does now. So to play the devil’s advocate, my customer was not wrong in thinking I was hiding a baby in my tummy. But why does one blurt out things like that? Keep that thought in your head, dude! Has the whole world lost its filter like I have? After turning 50, I sometimes say things that have no business being spoken out loud but even I, the new filter less me, would not ask anyone if she is pregnant.

Moreover, see the carefully nurtured lovely streak of Cruella Devillesque white in my hair? See the wrinkles on my face? See the bags under my eyes? And the constant tired look? Those are all signs that I am old. And the belly that you see is not a baby bump but menopausal mountain (I saw that term in a menopausal tea advertisement that Facebook keeps throwing up on my newsfeed).

Anyway, next time you see me just don’t ask about my pregnancy. I assure you I am not pregnant. Despite this faux pax on his part, the customer is still one of my favorites. After that uncomfortable exchange I laughed and talked a bit longer with him to make sure we were good.

In my opinion, life is too short to be upset over these things. Gotta laugh!

Aging


Aging does not bother me too much. In a weird way, it is liberating. The face is not as thin as it used to be, the jawline is getting blurry, there are pouches under my eyes, the hair has significant strands of white. Although, I must say when I take care to blow dry my hair, and the strands of white are not all fuzzy and crazy like, they totally look stylish.

Feet hurt a little at the end of the day and yes, the back hurts sometimes when I wake up. The knee creaks and the doctor tells me my bones are bad. Physically, it is a downhill journey but mentally it is freeing. I speak my mind more, I am less sensitive, I can laugh about myself and the horrible insecurity has magically disappeared. No, you will still not find me dancing wildly on the dance floor but that is primarily because I have 2 left feet and no sense of direction. I can cause serious injury to fellow dancers by grooving in the wrong direction. When someone calls me old, it is not an insult, just the state of my being in the present moment. I embrace all of it. Except one thing……

What is with the belly fat??? I hate that jiggle. And it is not about what people are going to think about my pear shaped body, it is completely about my efforts at getting rid of it and the utter failure.

All my life, I have been unable to put on weight; so with the cockiness of someone with fast metabolism I did not pay attention to the gradually accumulating belly fat till one day I could not button my pants. Talk about a rude awakening. Every time a pant feels tighter or the love handles spill over the waistband I promise myself, this is it – less carbs, no sugar, more exercise and I can get this to disappear. But I work at a library. It is a well known fact that librarians love to eat and feed fellow librarians. Customers love us and show their appreciation by bringing us home made goodies or store bought treats. Moreover, I am a Bengali. We Bengalis can not resist food. So all of the above work against my good resolutions.

So now that I have written down all the reasons for my burgeoning girth, I can hopefully work towards a resolution. There are a couple of reasons for that. A doctor check up is coming up. My doctor will not be amazed by my fantastic BMI this time and second being a Kolkata trip in a couple of months. Kolkata means home, Kolkata means parents, Kolkata means love, Kolkata means memories, Kolkata means amazing Bengali food and Bengali sweets, Kolkata means…. belly fat. Sigh. And my slowing metabolism. Deadly combination.