My Postmenopausal Purpose

According to J.D. Vance, the whole purpose of postmenopausal female existence, in theory, is helping to raise grandchildren.

Actual postmenopausal me is sitting on my daughter’s front porch, holding my beautiful four-month-old grandson after changing his stinky diaper. I feel happy, which I guess makes theoretical sense; since I am no longer an effective incubator, I get to be a service object, like a beautiful vase repurposed into a mop.

I think, if this were The Handmaid’s Tale, I have been a Martha for going on twenty years now.

But this is a real-life Thursday afternoon in August, and what I am feeling is my good fortune in the moment tinged only slightly by burning contempt for J.D. Vance.  

I believe purpose is pure, and self-held. Just like post-menopausal females, it is not a monolith. Purpose serves no ideological agenda, including the patriarchy.

In this moment, my purpose comes down to love in general, specifically, sniffing the top of this sweet baby’s head. My brain hums with thoughts I can’t wait to put into words, like maybe, just maybe, the whole purpose of J.D. Vance’s existence, in theory, is to tank the Trump ticket, thus saving our democracy. This reminds me of yet another compelling purpose, shared by almost all of my postmenopausal pals: to vote blue in November.