There was a certain show that we went to see the other day. I'm sure by now you've read all about it here. We didn't tell Boy Child about this show until 2 hours before we were going to leave - for all the obvious reasons of course. However, we did tell Diva the night before just in case she wanted to take a friend with her. One friend doesn't like musicals, a second friend wasn't allowed due to it being a school night, and a third had a dentist appointment and couldn't guarantee to be back in time for us to leave. So Diva did without. It was actually very nice that it was just the four of us - as a family.
We left in plenty of time so that we could stop and eat something quick on the way (Hmm, that kinda sounds like an oxymoron to me). Poor husband was disappointed that Wholey's closes their kitchen at 5:30p so he could not get his favorite fish sandwich in the world but the kid's were happy because that meant they got to eat at Wendy's.
We arrived at the theater and headed straight to the restrooms - just as good parents would do before the show. Unfortunately for us though the first bells were chiming and that meant we were actually running late, but still there was time. What we didn't know was that while in the restroom I hear my Diva call to me in a weird kinda voice. Bells are still chiming and I'm asking her to hurry up. We had really good seats and I wasn't sure if they would seat us if the show started - we don't get to shows much so I wasn't sure how that worked. Poor Diva asks me to come to her. I do and when I see the pale, teary-eyed look I couldn't imagine what was wrong. Then I looked behind her, saw and knew. Of all the inopportune times. We had already had the whole talk about puberty and sex. She saw the movie at school about how their bodies will be changing but nothing really prepares a girl for when it actually happens to them. Especially when it happens at a theater 5 minutes before a show is going to start and neither of us has any of the appropriate supplies with us. Thank goodness for a quarter and a well-stocked machine! I hug her and tell her it will all be alright but beg her to get a move on it so we don't miss the show. I'm sensitive like that. She, being the good girl that she is, didn't disappoint me and we made it to our seats. Not without my awkward explanation to Husband as to why we took so long.
She wasn't quite herself during the show but she did allow herself to enjoy it - with that show there was no way to avoid it. The past few days have been a kind of culture shock to her. She is completely grossed out by how messy this can get. She has had three accidents already - one at school and I had to come and get her since it made quite a mess. Fortunately it was the end of the day so I just took her home instead of bringing her new pants.
It is times like this that I think about how I'm so thankful that I am not working anymore. I was able to scoop my baby up and hug her and bring her home within 5 minutes of her phone call. I've never been able to do that with her since she was born. I hope that I've been as kind and showed as much concern as she needed these couple days. I don't want this memory of her first period to be one of trauma or disinterest. My mother never discussed puberty or sex with me. When I first got my period it was at a friend's house while we were playing Barbies. I ran home crying and scared. Naturally, my parents were out for the night and only my sister was home. Apparently, she had that talk with her and even gave her a book. She was surprised my mother hadn't spoken to me. So it was my sister that helped calm me down and showed me what to do. I know she told my mom when they got home because my mom said "I heard what happened" to me and that was the end of it. So I wanted to make sure my daughter's memory was hugely different than mine. I hope I've succeeded. Only she knows.