Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon (A Mere Song)

Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon (A Mere Song)

Women with small children know full well that no business done in a bathroom is private when there are small children nipping at their heels. This was true for my Mother and sisters with the littlest version of me running around, mirroring everything they did, monkey see-monkey do. At a tender age, four years old to be exact, I knew where things were in the bathroom cupboards and drawers – shaving creams, razors, soaps, toothpaste, band-aids, towels, face cloths, feminine products. I’m sure you see where this is going.

Keep in mind, I liked to be a naked kid. At four, I liked to run around in my underwear and who didn’t at that age!? My parents, who were still together at this time, had company. Usual suspects, likely my uncles and aunts, close family friends, it was a fondue party. A typical scene of jollity in those days, folks eating, drinking, smoking, laughing, and jabbering at an earsplitting decibel (at least for a four-year-old!). In other words, a good rock’ time. In all the fun of cooking bits of meat and vegetables in hot oil on sharp skewers, no one paid much mind to me weaving through a sea of adult knees. And then someone alerted my Mother, pointing in my downward direction, “Houston, we may have a problem.” There I was, amid all the grown-ups, sporting an ungodly waddle. I am sure at first, my Mother, my poor Mother, thought I’d shit my pants in the middle of their festivity. On closer inspection, and much to her dismay, she realized I had a thick wad of maxi-pad in my drawers which caused my awkward toddle. My Mother’s face went red as a beet, “What in God’s name, child!?” Legend has it I looked up and regarded her with pride, “Just like you guys!” My poor Mother.

Way Cooler Sister was there for me when I was a mere tween when I was curious about the birds and the bees. Of course, this was after the unfortunate talking vagina incident via Brother ‘n’ Law’s filthy DVD player. My Mother, who had not known how to broach the subject of womanhood with me, provided a book from which Way Cooler Big Sister could enlighten adequately. She gathered me one afternoon after a few spirited games of tetherball and cracked the cover. She started with the parts, mine and that of the boys. Together, we read through the ins and outs of intercourse, conception, pregnancy, birth, and even sexually transmitted diseases. Eventually, they taught us a bunch of the same stuff in Health class, but it was nowhere near as edifying or as considerate as when Way Cooler Big Sister bestowed the material. I admit, I winced and squirmed from looking at all the diagrams, “Those penis things look kinda weird, don’t they? Like a hot dog with a hood.” Taking the task very seriously, she ignored all my stupid commentary. Even when I almost cried when she showed me a picture of a baby’s head crowning at birth. She maintained that it was all natural and normal. Even dicks. Her word, not mine. I said she was considerate, not subtle. To add to that, she also said there was nothing she showed me I’d ever need to be ashamed of, especially my period.

I was prepared for it. I didn’t expect to get it as early on as I did. But I was prepared. Equipped. As you already know, I knew exactly where the ‘things’ were. In the bathroom cupboard on the middle shelf in the yellow box. She told me, “Whenever the time comes, just take one from the box, stick it on your panties and the pad will catch the blood.” I asked her if it would hurt on account of knowing blood was going to come out of me from down there. She said no. I a million questions. She answered each one with a maternal calm. And because she did, I was ready to meet Aunt Flo. Sort of. 

It turns out getting your period cramps your style. Literally. I was in fifth grade. Our Most Beautiful Teacher handed out a Language Arts test I was certain to ace. It was my strongest subject, obviously. I was sat at my desk, wearing my favorite outfit of the moment, pink almost jeans (almost with a ton of stretch) with my black and white rock ‘n’ roll t-shirt. It was one of those standard tees with rockers such as the Sex Pistols and Ramones depicted in black blobs on white cotton. Probably the coolest piece of clothing I ever owned then and now. A gift from none other than Rock Star Brother. I picked up my pen to begin my test. Yes, you heard correctly, a pen. In fifth grade. My penmanship, along with few select others, was so impeccable, she permitted us to do our work in ink. It was quite an honour. Anyhow, I grabbed my pen and feasted my eyes on the quiz. I wrote my name in curly cute loops up at the top and tucked in. Mid way through the first question the words started to get a little fuzzy and that made me dizzy. I broke out into a cold sweat. My stomach started to swell in a pain that wasn’t familiar. Cramps. Bad ones. But not in my gut. In my groin. I did the best I could to complete all the questions and quickly excused myself to the washroom thinking maybe if I pooped my tummy or whatever was happening to me might stop hurting. And, then I saw it. The inaugural pink hue in my undies. In that panicked moment, I forgot every word Way Cooler Big Sister told me. I forgot about the book and the conversation entirely. As if it never happened. I couldn’t understand why I was bleeding from my bird. I stuffed a giant wad of toilet paper in there and sped to the office to call home. If I was going to die, I wasn’t going to croak at school. No one answered. I called Father Mine at work. He was unavailable. In a meeting. I was a sweaty heap of worry for the rest of the day, bitter I couldn’t get in touch with anyone to come pick me up and take me home to my death bed. I half cried at my desk until the end of day bell rang.

It was the longest bus ride home to Cow Bay. I needed my Mother. I needed a doctor, stat. And then, as the bus cornered its way around the dyke it all came flooding back. All the things Way Cooler Big Sister said. I wasn’t in fact dying, I had gotten my period. Aunt Flo came to town much earlier than I had anticipated. Even though I knew all about her, I still thought I had time. As my Mother says, guess what thought did …

The bus finally arrived at my stop, the last on the route. I hobbled off and home. At that point, in addition to cramps, I also had hunger pangs. The queasiness all day prevented me from eating my lunch. On the walk home I somehow got a small burst of energy and I just started running. I ran into the driveway, up the side stairs, busted through the door, locked myself in the bathroom and disrobed. In a clean pile of folded laundry, I found my pajamas and a clean pair of undergarments and braved the yellow box in the cupboard. I fiddle faddled forever. I knew where they were, but I didn’t know exactly how to use them. I was intimidated. And then, I solved the puzzle. Proudly poured myself out of the bathroom. I found my Mother and Way Cooler Big Sister in the kitchen making supper. Pots were hot, the delicious aroma of roast wafted in the air. And, as if I hadn’t almost had a meltdown in my desk earlier and I wasn’t mad at the universe and everyone in it because no one would answer the phone or come get me, I announced with the utmost confidence, “I started my period!”

I ruined my pink almost jeans. My Mother tried to get the stains out, but it was a lost cause. I also failed my test which should have been a breeze. Most Beautiful Teacher called home to see if everything was okay as it was unlike me to flunk at the arts of language. I am certain my Mother gave her the low down. The kicker of the whole thing though was a few weeks later when Rock Star Brother visited for Sunday dinner (oh, how I miss Sunday dinners!). He and Most Beautiful Girlfriend, who often teased me for articulating big words, arrived with hugs and smiles. And then he said the most horrendous thing to me, “I heard that you’re woooman now.”

I thought I’d die.  

***

It’s difficult for me to write these pieces and not talk about this subject. It’s a rite of passage for every girl. I remember my Kelly relaying all the details of that book like it was yesterday. I remember the way it felt sitting in my classroom feeling like I might fall out of my chair from the pain. My first made me incredibly sick. For years, I’d often miss a day of school if the that time of the month fell on a weekday. I had a terrible time with it. A lot of pain and headaches and exhaustion. Fortunately, I grew out of them and with the aid of the modern miracle that his birth control. It seems strange to be recounting this when I am at an age where my body is facing the opposite end of that spectrum. I’d be a lot more comfortable talking to my big brother about menopause than I was having him congratulate me on becoming a woman. Lord Jesus. I remember that like it was yesterday too. And, I know he didn’t say it outwardly embarrass me but since I looked up to him so much and I knew he knew, I assumed he knew all the gory details.

It’s hard being a kid. A girl.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS – I didn’t have access to my grade 5 school photo at the time of posting so the accompanying one relates more to the first half of the piece than the last.