H and I chatted today about growing up. About how she’s getting bigger and older and her body will have changes. Actually, her body is already having changes – she uses a lovely little roll-on deodorant by PitROK which I was given at Blogfest which works a treat.
Handily, I’m having mine at the moment, so carry my little Vinny’s Mini Tampon case in my jeans pocket, so showed her some tampons. Explained it all, and how a period happens.
“So if the egg isn’t fertilised…”
“What does fertilised mean, mummy?” (I didn’t think that one through)
I told her I’d explain with the context of a chicken, which was enough of a distraction we could just get on with talking about periods instead and completely forget about that f-word.
“So what if I never get one?” she quizzed. I told her it’s unlikely she would miss out, and actually may well be like me or her nana and have them at a younger age. She seemed happy with that while a little bit of me broke inside. (my mum was seven, I was nine. H is six and a half)
She seemed fairly content with the fact it’s normal, that she’ll almost definitely get them but she won’t know when and that her general body changes will be when she knows things are changing. I hope. But I hope not soon.
Which makes me wish I’d had a chat like this with my mum back when I was the age when you can understand things like this. I knew nothing about periods. I remember sitting on the loo and my mum opening the door telling me “oh, I think you’ve started your periods” when I apparently had, being given a large brick type pad to wear that weekend in my pants. I didn’t have a clue what it meant or what it was about, or that it was even happening, it all just felt really awkward.
“What are these?” she asked, as she picked up my box of tampons on the stairs. (don’t worry, they don’t live there, they were making their way from my work bag into the bathroom cabinet) and I reminded her again. “Ohh THOSE” she said, knowingly.
It’s almost like I don’t need to broach any kind of subject along these lines any more, it’s like she thinks she’s an expert, she has as much knowledge as she’ll need for the next few years, and I can put my feet up for a bit.
It’s like she’ll now just casually drop into the conversation in restaurants “well that’s BECAUSE YOU HAVE YOUR PERIOD!” or something. A bit like the time I did a wee and she congratulated me on it being a big one.
I guess my lack of tact is really rubbing off on my daughter…