Teen girls: THIS wasn’t in my “What To Expect” Book

I recently accompanied my daughter to her first Ob/Gyn appointment. Not for an exciting pregnancy reveal, or anything so grand. The experience started 30 days ago when she started her first period with all the fanfare of a parade.

Some mothers and daughters mark the move into ‘womanhood’ with a shopping trip. Ours was marked with an army of paramedics and a mother/daughter ride in the ambulance to the emergency room. My daughter exited the restroom at a public location, said she didn’t feel well, and hit the floor–out cold! Two pediatric cardiologists, a female internist, and a gaggle of nurses later, she was given a clean bill of health.

This story could end here, except for the small detail that my daughter is a swimmer. Not just a few times per week recreation swimmer. My daughter is a 6 day per week serious, training for the olympics swimmer. She could not miss a week of practice every month without “people noticing”…her words. She was determined to use tampons.

Now I consider myself slow to embarrass, and willing to help my 3 children through most events in their life. The big day arrived and standing up she tried, as most of us have to cross this off her list of things to do. As I saw her sway, I knew she was going down. Before she could pass out I had her lie down on the bed.

Now I should explain so you can see the visual.

We’re redoing her bedroom so her bed in in the middle of the living room. With no one home, she felt pretty free and asked if I could help her. Hey, help? That’s in my mom description. I can do that. Hmm, the room was a bit dark. I had my trusty flashlight. She needed a mirror. I had my light-up magnifying beauty mirror I use for reminding myself where I’ll get Botox when I have extra money someday. For some reason (you figure it out) I decided to slip on a pair of dishwashing gloves.

So, you’ve got the picture. Yellow gloves, flashlight and magnifying mirror, looking at the end of my daughter I haven’t seen since she was in diapers, and it dawned on me. This was not in ANY child-rearing book I ever read. There is nothing close that my husand will ever deal with in my boys’ life.

And so it was we ended up at the Ob/Gyn’s office. Two boxes of tampons, and 2 1/2 hours later, I can assure you my daughter is missing swimming this month. I can also assure you the office will never be the same. On the way out I heard one patient tell her husband, “that screaming must mean someone is going into labor.”

I’m a blissful mother of 3, who tried to busy herself eating bon bons, lounging on the couch, and searching the circulars for tampon coupons.

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