It's (Women's) Business Time

The questions are coming faster than I can deflect them. I have tried to answer (read: avoid) them in a meaningful way - but I can' t do it anymore without going to that place I have been afraid to go. She is only 9 , I know - but things are different these days. I mean, have you seen the 4th grade lately? They are not little girls anymore. There are belly shirts, and heels and little boobs budding everywhere. I realize that every mom and grammy reading this (especially one that I can think of, two if I count my sister) is saying - 'been there , done that' with their daughters - but this is me and my blog...so it is infinitely more important than anyone else's experiences on this subject.


{{cue flashback music and wiggly wavy things }}

Mom was driving me to a party. A boy-girl party at Brian Brady's house. In the basement with Elton John's 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and Terry Jacks' 'Seasons in the Sun' playing on the record player. His parents were upstairs while we - the 4th grade class of Heminway Elementary School in Framingham, MA - were about to embark on our first co-ed birthday party. And I have to say - I like liked him. And, I was one of the popular girls in 4th grade. And he like liked me back.

So mom is driving me to his house. I am all dolled up in my Huck-a-poo shirt and Jordache jeans. (BTW - this was the only time in my life I could actually fit into designer jeans) Love's Baby Soft roll on lip gloss tucked stealthily in my back pocket right along side of David Stacy's comb (okay, so I liked Brian Brady first and David Stacy was second on my list) and my mom says to me "You know, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

{{flashback over}}

That. was. it. The extent of my 'the talk' with my mom. I don't recall her ever having sat me down and having the all important 'conversation' with me about the changes in my body and my emotions and ... you know.

So the 9 year has asked "Mom, what is puberty?" and I said "It sucks, wanna ice cream?" (deflect and re-interest NOW) and she has asked what neutering is (when we were watching the Animal Planet once) and I said " Let's see what's on Disney channel and wanna ice cream?". All this deflecting has done has been to delay the inevitable and cause me to gain a few unwanted ice cream pounds.

So I broke down and scoured the shelves of Border's for the right book. Oh sure, once I was in High School - I had 'Our Bodies, Ourselves' loaned to me by my friend Jodi who is the 3rd of 4 girls in the family. The 9 year old is too young for that at the moment. But I need something to help open the floor to questions without raising any unwanted ones...and I found the right mix of cartoon and credibility. Straight talk about first bras, first periods and the changing body.

Our girls have see us naked all the time. In fact, one of the funniest things the 9 year old ever said to me was when she was about 4 and in the shower with me helping me shave my legs while I was very pregnant with the now 4 year old (conserving water no...to lazy and huge to do it myself , yes) she looked down and up , down and up at my very different unmanicured, wet and naked body and said "Mom, your feathers are dirty!" There is chapter in this book that I think is actually titled "Your Feathers Are Dirty" This was a bright kid .


So the 9 year old reads the whole thing in like 45 minutes (crap!) and decides that we, like the author, should have "Women's Business Time" once a week. The first meeting was this past Sunday. In her oh, so grown up voice- she sits me down (on her bed , right next to the 27 Webkins and assorted stuffed animals and I have to take the eraser out of the bottom of my foot and give her some shit about what a pigsty her room is first) and we have the first session. Using the book as a point of reference, we go over the first bra stuff. Easy enough.

Moving to the touchy stuff now. I start with "You know honey, a period is not just a punctuation mark....it's actually a lot more than that. " She comes right back with - "So it says I should get used to blood on my sheets." " How do you know when it's coming?" " Will I get zits and stuff?" " Is that what all those mommy bandaids were for?" "You had a hysterctomy so you don't have periods anymore, right?" "How do you know which ovary is releasing the egg?" All good questions...this is a bright kid.

I take the experiential stance at this point and look to graphics in the book to explain what a period is biologically, how often it comes, and I am thinking this is a good thing. We talk a little more about some of the emotional issues that are starting to pop up and Hubby calls us for dinner (phew - thank you, thank, thank you Hubby). It is then decided that we should have the "Women's Business Time" at the same time next week. Done.

Later that evening - she asks me "So , if the egg doesn't get fertilized each month, you get a period right? What if the egg is fertilized?" I respond by saying - "Well, then, you are pregnant if the egg is fertilized"

...and then she pops the big one - the big gulping, seat squirming question ....
"How does the egg get fertilized, Mommy?"

{{cue flashback music and wiggly wavy thing}}

I played 2 minutes in the closet and let some kid named Doug something or other - who was not even on my 'like list' - play chicken with me and he felt me up. We kissed with our mouths closed and moved our heads back and forth mushing our lips together and he put his sweaty hand on my Huck-a-poo shirted boob. And for the record, I was one of the 'developed' girls in 4th grade so lucky Doug. (I wonder if he is sitting somewhere with his 4th grade daughter remembering his first boy -girl party.....nyaaaah.) What can I say? Once a slut always a slut.

{{end flashback}}

I say to her "It's business time, women's business time."

....next week.