I am officially the mother of a ‘grown-up’. And it hurts.
It hurt when I saw her large beautiful eyes widen in deep amazement and shock at her first sight of this unwelcome monthly visitor.
...when I think she is just 11, a kid, now, tomorrow and always to me...
…when I saw tears welling up in her eyes as I explained this will be a monthly ritual that will go on for years to come.
…when I see her trying to hide her growing panic at the unexplainable pain she endures
…when she asks me every hour when this will get over
…when she implores me to not tell her father about this change in her…
It hurts when I think she can’t be that carefree, sports loving, out going, innocent little girl of mine, who can only sit with her legs up.
But I will make her understand, that this does not hinder her in any way, in any of her activities… (though I don’t think it is fair at all that we have all the pain and the ‘unfair sex’ has all the fun)
On the flip side, I can see the beginning of a deeper bond…of mom and daughter, me and her, as both of us stand huddled in the bathroom, with me talking to her about experiences that are far worse than hers. How she comes to me just to talk, to put her confused mind to rest, to share her fears and how when she fervently swore that in her next birth, she wants to be born as a ‘boy’ and when I agreed with her and said, “Yeah, me too!” and we looked at each other and smiled our secret smile…I can see the bond blooming…and I hope it will grow stronger. Touchwood.
And not far behind the doors there is a pair of investigating eyes, those of my younger ones, who is trying hard to understand why we are sharing too many bathroom secrets…