Welcome To Womanhood

Heather is a working mother of three very active children, ages 11, 9, and almost 5. When she isn’t “Working” she is busy chauferring her children to their various games and practices where she has perfected the role of Mommy Cheerleader. She enjoys her life in the fast lane and is hopeful that she isn’t doing too much damage as helps her children navigate their way through tweenhood, boyhood, and preschool. Read more at Making it Work Mom.

Mothers live and breathe milestones. Milestones tell us that we have done our job. We get to check one more thing off our Mommy list. It feels good.

Usually milestones are celebrated loudly. We announce them on facebook, tweet them on Twitter and gush to our co-workers and friends. There is one milestone though that tends to be celebrated in a more reserved manner. The event is certainly significant; it is just not one of those things you sing from the mountain tops. It is the pinnacle Mother/Daughter milestone: the day you Welcome your Daughter into Womanhood. You know the day she gets her period.

It should be incredible. You get to share your womanly wisdom and extol about the beauties of being a woman. It should be a making a memory moment.

Well, that is, if you don’t totally screw it up. Like I did. I had no Claire Huxtable moment. In fact I didn’t even have a Peg Bundy moment. I had a hide your head in shame; you don’t even get a do over moment. Yes I did. I totally sucked at welcoming my daughter into womanhood.

I certainly did not have any reason to believe that my TweenStar would be starting her period. She just turned 11 and she is incredibly athletic and active. She is 4’9” and about 80lbs. She is not DEVELOPED at all. People, she doesn’t even have armpit hair. She looks like a child. I, of course, was aware that sometime in the next 3 years she would start her period. I just had not planned for it to happen NOW. I repeat she does not even have armpit hair!

I had purchased a couple of those helpful “know you body” books for TweenStar and had subtly left them on her bed. No pressure. Why? Because her body wasn’t really changing much! And I knew she had looked through them. I wasn’t totally negligent. I had done some prep work. We just hadn’t had THE TALK yet. We had not actually sat down together and discussed All the Nitty Gritty Details. I am a procrastinator by nature and the fact that she was not developed at all lulled me into thinking I had all the time in the world. I figured I would let the public school system do their spiel with all the biology and science and then I would swoop in afterward and give a realistic perspective, softening up all the technical mumbo jumbo. I would then collect my Mommy of the Year award.

*Big Sigh*

So let’s set the scene.

It is about 7:30 in the evening and TweenStar and I are sitting on the couch enjoying a little girl time as we watch trashy reality TV. TweenStar gets up to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later I hear “Mom, come here”. I am not overly concerned. I am actually more annoyed at having to get up from my comfy spot on the couch. I go into the bathroom and find a terrified looking TweenStar.

“Um I just went to the bathroom and when I wiped there was some blood.” Panic has seeped into her voice.

Now in a perfect world this is the moment where I smile, give her a hug, and then whip out the “Welcome to Womanhood Care Package” that I had lovingly put together in anticipation of this moment. Let’s just take a moment and think about how fantastic that would have been.

Unfortunately I don’t live in a perfect world. I live in My World, which is far from perfect. I admit I was in a little bit of shock. Okay, maybe a lot of shock. I don’t even really think I fully processed what she was saying. So instead of being Mother of the Year I became Mother of Denial.

“Oh yeah, hmmmm. You know what maybe you just scratched yourself. You know remember like you did when you were two and potty training. I bet that is what it is.” Right because that makes so much sense – talk about grasping at straws.

TweenStar is looking at me oddly.

“Yeah I am sure you are fine. Uh let’s just wait like 30 minutes and then you can go check again. Sound good?” I am nodding my head like a bobble head. I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat.

“OoooooKay. I guess.”

“Good Good”, and then I actually ran out of the bathroom. Yes, I ran.

I returned to the couch where I sat for thirty minutes in a cold sweat soaked panic.

Thirty minutes later TweenStar goes back into the bathroom.

I hold my breath waiting for her to return. I whisper a few prayers to Mother Nature.

TweenStar returns.

TweenStar: “Yeah mom I think you were right. I think I did just scratch myself.”

Exhale

Me: “Great! Good! I so totally thought that is what it was.”

And I actually pretended I believed this scenario. I did. I really really did. I felt great about it and even made a mental note to start putting together the Welcome to Womanhood Care Package ASAP. I slept well that night.

Now fast forward to the next morning.

Me to TweenStar: “How are you doing this morning, ya know”, gesturing wildly.

TweenStar: “Fine”

Me: “Great!” I feel triumphant.

And so there I was living in my lovely little bubble of denial. I wasn’t even alone; I had dragged my TweenStar into the bubble with me. It was a Big Bubble of Denial.

And then the bubble burst.

I went up to the TweenStar’s room and started picking up her dirty clothes from the floor. As I was picking up her pajamas from the night before I saw the evidence.

I was knew at that moment that I was now in the midst of the Mother of all Mothering Fails. Yup she definitely had started her period.

I called TweenStar up to her room and we had a little heart to heart talk. It was a talk that felt completely weird after I had tried so hard to convince her that she was bleeding because of a non-existent scratch. Um yeah it was totally awkward for both of us.

She cried a little. I sucked back my hysteria because the least I could do was be the strong one, even though I was really sad. I mean she was only 11. She had no armpit hair. I silently cursed my husband and son who would never have this issue. Their “Talk” would last about 3 minutes and end with a fist bump and an “Atta boy, just keep it wrapped up.” Boys suck. I set her up with some pads and we moved on with our day.

I did tell my SuperHubby about the milestone that had been achieved in our house. To say he was less than enthusiastic to hear the details would be an understatement. He now just calls it “The Issue”. For real. He is an enlightened man.

The following Thursday SuperHubby and I arranged it so that I could have a little one on one time with TweenStar. Perhaps I would be able to recoup a little of my self-respect that I had left on the bathroom floor when I uttered the words “I think it is a little scratch”. I brought home some good take out for us and we set up our dinners in the living room to watch TV together.

I was trying very hard to be all nonchalant. You know me cool as a cucumber. I asked her about her day. We ate. We chatted about the TV show. After about 30 minutes I decided to bring up her visit from Mother Nature. I started my little prepared speech.

She immediately interrupts with “I don’t want to talk about it!”

I started again. “I just want you to know I am there for you. What kind of questions do you have?” She is looking at me like I am speaking some foreign language.

She speaks slowly: ‘I. Am. All. Good. I don’t want talk about it anymore.’

Okey dokey.

I suck.

So I now I take baby steps. We talk a little here and there. I don’t push. I take my five minutes and try to give as much as I can. I am her defender now; defending her moodiness and tiredness because of “The Issue”. I am hopeful that 15 – 20 years from now we will be able to laugh about my total mothering meltdown over a glass of wine. I am pretty sure she won’t hold it against me forever, only when she really really wants something. And I am pretty sure that I haven’t scarred her for life; well nothing that a few sessions on the therapist’s couch won’t cure.

So I refuse to beat myself up over it. Anymore.

Luckily I have another daughter. Hopefully I can redeem myself with her. I do know that I have already started putting together my Welcome to Womanhood Care Package for her. I will be prepared next time. Maybe…