I noticed her staring at me. You know staring at me.
“Mommy, can I ask you a stupid question?” This was said with a half-smile and full eye contact, so I knew this wasn’t going to be THE TALK. (Thank heavens….she’s SEVEN)
But, I could see her little gears working….so, I knew it was something. I knew it was going to be a moment between us.
“Sure, Baby….anything… there are no stupid questions.”
“How old are you when you get boobies?” (last word said with slight giggle)
Here we go. This explains the staring. And this is also the first indication that she’s noticed anything to do with the female body AND has expressed any curiousity about when hers might change.
Thinkquickyou’vepreparedforthisyouknowwhattosay. Right? And whatever comes out of my mouth should be guaranteed to a) make her feel secure in her own body and b) ensure she will always come to me with questions.
Damn. That’s a lot of pressure.
“Baby, girls develop at different ages…. and they are all different sizes – that is what is amazing and beautiful about them.”
“How old were you?”
“I was fourteen.”
Eyes-like-saucers, “YOU WERE FOURTEEN??!!?? WOW!” (I’m still not sure if this was good or bad)
She smiles. I grab her face in both my hands, look her in the eyes and say, as I shrug off the pesky small dude who is dying to know the content of our quiet conversation, “You know you can always talk to me about anything, right?” (I swear I was given extra points just for keeping him out of the chat!)
“Of course, Mommy.” She shrugs. Looks me right in the eye and says, “Mommy, spell ICUP.”
“I-C-U-P”
**cue fit of giggles**
Yep. She’s still seven. And not so concerned about ‘boobies’ after all.
I remember this moment like it was yesterday.
This, our priest explained, is how every child at our school should feel. Don’t think I didn’t cry. I did. Just a little. And I still can’t get rid of the lump in my throat.
