You bet your sweet ass we celebrated that day.
First things first, my daughter discovered that she started her period at my mother’s house. My mother – sweet as pie and would give her last cent to the needy without thought – is quirky in the sense that she jumps to conclusions sometimes. And when she jumps, she jumps REALLY far. I think back to when I started my period, or when I thought I started, at age 11. I had a thing for panties that had flower prints on them (like my daughter does now), and so after developing breasts and needing to wear deoderant at first, I remember looking forward to seeing that small spot of blood. And a few times, I mistook a rose print on my panties for blood. My mother, bless her heart, saw the same thing I did, and we went to the store together to buy pads.
Sometimes we see what we want to see, eh?
That summer, I found myself having one day the worst stomach ache, and I honestly thought I had to go to the hospital. My mother was at work, and my grandmother was watching us at home. I was crying from the pain and from fear. Grandma called a nurse hotline just to make sure, but there was no advice to go anywhere or to take anything. So, since she felt like she had more TLC to give at her house, we all packed up and went to her place.
It was there, when I went to the bathroom, that I saw that I had started my period. It really was not what I had expected. No small red spot, but a flood of brown thick mucousy substance. I was sickened, and yes again, scared. Before, I was excited about starting. Now, I wanted to go back. If this was growing up, I wanted no part of it. It’s disgusting. It’s painful. My brothers didn’t have to go through this, the lucky bastards.
I had lived much of life at that point wishing that I wasn’t a girl, BTW. I helped stuff envelopes with my mother for the ERA. I heard my mother and her friends talk incessantly about how unfair life was for women and girls, how we are victimized daily, and came to an early conclusion that being a girl means being without hope. The only way to get anywhere was to be more male. With my tom-boyish ways, that was relatively easy for me to adopt, but I really did wish I LIKED having a vagina.
There are times when I reflect on my past, and how I coped, and if my painful cycles were a strong correlation with my own self-loathing. I don’t know, and part of me doesn’t really care.
But fast forward to several months ago, when I get a phone call from my mother saying that my little girl started her period. I asked (knowing my mother) was it obvious. She said she thinks so. I brushed it off and waited to see if it was actually the case.
And then a few months ago I get another phone call (funny how these things happen at grandmothers’ houses in our family) from my daughter. She was bubbling with excitement: “Mom! Guess WHAT! I started my period!!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I was getting ready to take a shower, and I looked down, and there was blood everywhere.”
“CONGRATULATIONS, BABY-GIRL! It’s time to celebrate!”
And with that, we planned a luncheon together. Just me and her together, to commemorate reaching a milestone in her puberty. While we were out, she mentioned something…..
“Mom, do you still have painful periods? Do you still get sick?”
“Not really anymore. Sometimes I get cramps, but for the most part it isn’t nearly as bad as it was before. I used to have to stay home for days because of my periods.”
“Wow! Really?!?”
I nodded.
“Well, mom….I didn’t get any cramps.”
“So I noticed.” I chuckled.
Since she has started her period, she has yet to experience menstrual cramps, pimples, feeling bloated, etc. She does get more sensitive, though, but nothing like what I went through at her age. One of my friends called her a lucky little snot. My daughter laughed.
I think she’ll be OK. In fact, it’s likely she’ll be better than just “OK.”
Sacred Whore 