Birds, Bees and Hairy Armpits

I am a survivor, a fighter and an all around pain in the ass when it comes to certain things.  I dredged and trudged my way through a lot of hardships and losses, losing my parents and a daughter, failed and tumultuous relationships, financial struggles and then, the icing on the cake, being diagnosed with the disease that took my own mother's life.  I'm still smiling and I'm still happy and I'm still moving forward.  There is one thing that worries me like no other, one period of time that I'm now facing head on for the first time from the perspective of a mother and an adult.  This is scary business, some serious stuff that I really don't know how I'm going to handle.  It's called ....

.... dun dun DUNNNN ....

Puberty.

I am the proud mother of three babies, one of which recently turned eleven.  I'm looking at her and seeing my little girl, a chubby nine pound baby who had so many rolls she resembled the Michelin Tire Man (real name is Bibendum - I remember that but can't remember the name for scissors, go figure).  Now my chubby baby is almost as tall as I am with hips and a waist and ... lord thunderin' help me ... we're shopping for bras along with preparing for periods which I'm hoping that when it finally does come, will give a brief relief to what seems to be almost a year or more of severe PMS.  However, I also know that this is probably the tip of the hormone iceburg but I'm refusing to admit that yet.

Attitudes are changing, wants and needs are changing.  My little girl is in a strange transition period where she wants to be independent; choosing fashion and friends, taking babysitting classes and dreaming about her future while at the same time getting excited for Santa Claus and sheepishly asking for dolls.  Little Miss L who now looks eye-to-eye with her dear ole mother, is stuck between being a little girl and the reality of growing up.

It's becoming easier to embarrass my little girl and she's getting to the stage where being seen in public with Mommy Dearest and her "little" sister and brother is a shameful act.  That's where I dance around like a fool and watch her whisper through clenched teeth while her face turns red, "you are so embarrassing".  On the flip side of that, I'm not too embarrassing to be around when there's a nightmare, a bully or an issue with homework.  I am embarrassing when I start talking about how normal it is to get hair in funny places then complain about shaving armpits.  The two "little" ones find me hilarious while my blooming soon-to-be junior high student just turns red and ....

"MOM! NO! You're gross! Ewww!" ... *stomp* *stomp*

I guess it's obvious that we have a very open house about changes in our bodies and Miss L knows she can ask questions and get the uncomfortable answers from her mother.  I don't mind being open about the voice changes, hair changes, hips and boobs, pimples and moods simply because I don't remember anyone being that open with me.  I heard the word "menstruation" a lot but no one explained to me about cramps and bloating, PMS, leaks and what to do.  Ladies, we all know how beneficial it would be if someone had've taught us how to make an emergency pad out of toilet paper and that cold water takes blood out if you get it right away or, that a special selection of super comfortable "period panties" is an absolute must.  It would also help to know that small make-up cases in the bottom of our school bags would be perfect for hiding pads, fresh bloomers, deodourant or, what I would like to call The Puberty Emergency Kit.

I wish I had've been armed with the information so I'm hoping that my being so open about the changes we all experience to become an adult, as well as respecting our bodies when it comes to relationships with other people, will be of some benefit to her and to my other two soon to bloom munchkins.  I was twelve years old, only one year older than my snotty pubescent darling daughter, when someone was exceptionally inappropriate with me and my lack of even basic knowledge at that point left me in a situation where I couldn't even describe to anyone what happened.  Our girls need to know that our bodies are ours and no one has a right to touch us when we say no or when we're not ready.  I sincerely hope that my openness (no, my girls do not know what happened to me and this is the first I've come out with it outside of a therapist's office) can give both of my girls and equally importantly, my son, the knowledge, respect and ability to stand up for themselves and to know there is no shame in saying no or waiting and respecting the other person who may say no to them.

Mind you everything is appropriate according to ages although the little sister was quite jealous that her big sister got to go shopping for "panty stickers" without her.  That turned into an interesting conversation that ended simply with a disgusted eight-year-old whom, after absorbing the information, flipped her hair and strutted off doing her patented drama walk.  The boy might be a different story.  At this point he's simply fascinated with himself and that's wonderful but I do see a lot of phone calls to Daddy in the future.  Girls I kind of understand, boys are totally different animal.

With all that said, puberty scares the shit out of me and not because of talks or body changes or issues with sex or sexuality.  By they way, we are 100% supporters of gay rights and I myself identify as bisexual.  Wow, I'm coming out with a lot today aren't I?  I'm quietly giggling thinking of what twists my own, very private sisters would be in if they knew I was sharing so much with the world but hey, if I'm experiencing this stuff than so is someone else so why not share and commisserate and support each other?  Anyway, I'm on a tangent so back to puberty ... it's the realization of how fast time goes by.  Eleven years ago I was nursing a little girl and staring down at her, absolutely terrified of being a mother and shell-shocked that I really had a baby.   Then I blinked and I'm sitting here writing about puberty.  I never understood when people told me to enjoy them when they're small because it goes by quickly but now I do and I worry if the next eleven years are going to be just as fast.

I guess this is really a family transition and like all transitions, bumpy.  We'll survive and one day I'll get to do with my babies what I loved doing with my Ma before she passed and that was sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and talk about what it was like growing up, telling funny stories of things I did as a child that either I didn't remember or she never found out about.  I tell my kids that I'm not their friend, I'm their mother and here to guide them into becoming adults but, at some point in the future, we will be friends.  As much as I want them to stay tiny and innocent and ridiculously hilarious at times, I'm also excited to get to the friendship part of the parent-child relationship.

Those will be some pretty great stories ...