Puberty is a Punny Thing

I. Just. Can’t. Somedays.

It’s really happened. I mean, it’s been happening.

My Lil Rambler isn’t so “Little” anymore. I should have been more on my game when I took her in for her 9-year-old checkup last year and the pediatrician said, “Well, she’s starting puberty. She’s in stage two.”

I’m sorry, she’s in what? There are stages? Wait, why didn’t I know this? Is it a count up stage or count down…like is stage 2 almost there to…wherever the stages go or did we just start?

Did I ask the nice doctor how many stages of puberty there were and how it worked? Nope. Because all of the sudden, I was in a daze. Fog. I was in a delusional daydream of running on a rainbow with her and eating candy off trees and crap.

All I remembered was to monitor her body changes and they would see her on her next checkup.

We walked out of there different people. I’m being dramatic – she walked out fine and just like she did when we walked in. Me—her mother, the woman who birthed her—was not.

I just stared at her. And I went immediately to Target and bought her little sports bras. Because that made me feel like I had control of what was happening.

About a Year Later

The year went by and my shock wore off as I monitored the body changes. Some days I walked out of her bathroom and just thought, What the hell is going on? Where is the Lil Rambler of potty training days?

Sentences like, “No you can’t shave that? I don’t care if Mom does!” engaged itself in our mother to child banter. Forking puberty.

Like, I get it…I’m a woman…I know exactly what will be happening to her…but all of the sudden, I did not feel like any kind of expert.

So thankfully while on vacation, one of my besties recommended this book…American Girl “The Care & Keeping of You”.

Looks of disgust and utter pre-teen eye rolling

My plan of gifting her my lifesaver (I should really say Books 1 & 2 because I wanted to overachieve) was that I would hand my kid the book of womanly knowledge and tell her to read, ask questions, and then we shall go buy ice cream and shop like those mommy-daughter commercials on TV…and have her tell me I’m amazing. All in one day.

What really happened was that my almost 10-year-old and her favorite cousin (newly 10) were hanging out being cousins and I was like, Oh, 2 birds with 1 stone thing! I’ll let them scan this together so maybe it won’t be too weird and they can ask each other questions…and then ask ME questions and we can all skip to Baskin Robbins and prepare for the most amazing mommy/aunt in the world love fest.

It was mostly all-around awkward. Probably because I made it awkward. I stuttered, while they eye-rolled me, tried to open to a page and say…..

“….you have these things here”

“….uh…on your chest”

“…and um they (gulp) gaarowwww”

“…and well, maybe this page about hygiene and taking a shower every day is better to start.”

It’s too intense when two 10-year-old girls stare at you. They took the book after a couple of seconds (which really felt more like eons) after not one word to me after my lame start up for the book that will blow their little girlie minds and went into the bedroom. Away from me. Because I made things weird.


Where are We Now?

So, now her most recent 10-year-old annual checkup confirmed we had hit Stage 4. (5 stages, people – 5 is final, height reached, Aunty Flow is regular, and all that’s supposed to be there…is there). The almost-about-to-join-the-ranks-of-people-purchasing-maxi-pads is upon her.

Jesus, hold the wheel. Or is it take the wheel? You get me.

Every time I walked in to Not so Lil Rambler’s room, the books would stare at me. Obviously unopened. Despite my attempts to say how much smarter than mommy she will be. I took notes from my bestie across the street and decided to sit with her every night and read a little bit. (Why, I didn’t think to do this is beyond me…logical thinking skips my place of residence every once in a while).

Visions of her getting the lady friend at school freaked me the fork out. I need to prepare her.

Test Run

I knew we would need to test run the maxi pad so if she had questions I could answer them. My kid is super literal and shy. Worst combination some days. (Sidenote: Lil Rambler didn’t hear her soccer coach clearly for his instruction regarding which side she was playing on during a scrimmage and was too shy to ask, so she played like she was on both sides. No joke…told her step dad…I think she doesn’t know what side she’s supposed to be on.)

We did it. We put that thing on her. I mean, she did. And I made her wear it for an hour so she knew what it felt like wearing a diaper and that it was normal. I mean, is it normal? Ugh.

And the funniest thing after putting it on, was that she waddled (because it made her feel weird) to her step dad watching TV and said, “I got my period pad on.” (insert high five in air toward now weirded out step dad).

“Uh, haha, awesome Lil Rambler, good job?” (Poor stepdad Rambler…earning them parenting points) and then said to me, ”My ears…my ears!” with his eyes.

We are almost Code RED people…look alive!

Selena Conmackie

Selena Conmackie

Selena Conmackie (aka The Rambler) is a storyteller, wife and mother originally from Hawaii. She is trying to make it to the next day by hunting for the funny to stay sane, and inhales coffee to keep her brain functioning. She occasionally binges on Netflix and begs her dog to leave the toilet paper roll alone for one second when using the potty. She prays to all that is holy that she can get through a homework session without breaking Google while helping to make her child smarter for her future. Selena humorously navigates her new life as a military spouse without embarrassing her husband wherever the Army sends them. Follow her rambles at My Rambling Thoughts.
Selena Conmackie

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