Parenting 101: Recalling “The Talks”

Back in 2013, I started a blog called The Second Half. I was in my early 40s and my kids were 11 and 7. One of the entries shared a couple of those important “serious conversations” with my pre-pubescent kid. I’m thankful that I had the presence of mind to record those moments. This is a reflection on them over a decade later.

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At some point during parenthood, your babies aren’t really your babies anymore. Our heads accept that as fact, even though are hearts remain reticent to do so.

The Talk #1

One of the conversations that many parents dread relates to the birds and bees. Julia was eight. Her questions about how babies were created and born had become so pointed; I couldn’t evade the conversation anymore.  So, we went to the library, found a kids’ encyclopedia/picture book on the topic, and brought it home.

We sat on the couch, along with Sophia (who was four at the time) and proceeded to read it together. It was a very well done book with colorful illustrations, all done tastefully and without too much gross-out factor. At the end of the book, I looked over at Sophia who was sleeping soundly. 

I asked Julia, So, did that answer your questions? Do you have any more? 

She said, Nope! and bounded away to watch some TV.

I was proud of myself for two reasons:

1. Her craving for discovering something about the mystery of baby-making was satisfied.
2. I had inadvertently put my four-year-old down for a nap. Win.

Happily, I had bought myself some time before any other serious questions were posed. Yay for me.

The Talk #2

She is smart as a whip and more inquisitive than ever. At our weekly Sunday dinner at the grandparents house, the adults were sitting and chatting around the table after dinner. The kids were off in a different room, playing.

Julia appeared, came over to me, and whispered in my ear:

Mom, can we talk in private later when we get home? 

Of course, I’m not going to wait one more second to delve into this little mystery. I casually offered to find a closed door to hide behind so we can chat. I was intrigued. It isn’t every day that your ten year old wants to share a private and personal discussion with her mom. She accepted, and we went off into a quiet bedroom to chat.

The conversation started something like this:

What’s on your mind?

Well, my friend (who’s 11) was talking about getting something where you pee blood.

There it is.

At the time, I was noticing the early stages that lead to her first “womanly changes”. I was also preparing myself. My curly-haired Shirley Temple baby girl was finding her way into the first stages of adulthood. Mixed emotions flooded my soul. 

My heart skipped a beat. I knew the conversation I was about to have. I also understood my mission: put her at ease as I inform her about the truth. I took a breath and decided that beating around the bush would not satisfy this chick. She wanted to know, and she wanted to know now.

Like I said earlier, this kid is super smart and in tune with mature concepts. I decided to just lay it all out there.

I proceeded slowly, talking about the female reproductive system, naming organs, what they do, why there’s blood every month. I explained a bit about cramps, how to handle them, that everyone experiences it differently. We covered the gross-factor, but as women we learn how to deal with it. 

She listened very intently and asked a few questions. I made sure I was thorough. I knew that at some point, she’d send the bat signal that she’d had enough. I talked, I looked, I listened. I went through every angle until she seemed disinterested and wiggly. That’s when her inner child would come screaming out and to play with her younger cousins and little sister.

At that point I stopped and asked, So, did I answer your questions? Do you have any more?

She replied, Nope! and scampered away back to childhood. It was quite a memory in the making.

Parenting, in retrospect

I sat there and took another breath. My heart pounded at the thought that I just had a really important conversation with my eldest daughter. Will she remember it when she’s older? Likely not. Will I? Sadly, I have a terrible memory. Thus, the need for a blog to write it all down so I can remember what happened years later.

The questions always loom. Did I give her what she needed? Did I forget something really important? Did I say too much?

I sat there, pondering the mixed emotions I had about this experience. I had always imagined the conversation like a movie. Soft-focused lens, butterflies fluttering in a meadow as my daughter and I take a long walk and discuss sanitary products. (There was a commercial in the 80’s just like that. Massengill?) But I am also a practical person. And so is she. There’s no soft-focus meadow. It’s whenever she decided it was time.

This is our job as parents. We must teach our kids things when they need to know, in simple yet thorough terms.

This applies even and especially to the squeamish topics. They ask when they’re most receptive to what you have to say. I was proud of that conversation, because she got what she needed from me. She came to her mom. So, I guess I was doing something right, even if I perpetually questioned my methods.

Those early conversations are now blips in the past. At the time, she hadn’t yet experienced the rite of passage into womanhood. I don’t even think she has any recollection of those talks. This is what gives me a modicum of comfort. She knew, from early on, that the door was open for any type of discussion. Fortunately, that comfort extended throughout the rest of her formative years. Whether it’s with me or my husband, she knows she has a safe space to figure life out.

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As a family, we accompany each other throughout our respective journeys. As a child, she was wiggly and noisy, insightful and compassionate. I was stressed and temperamental, and needed my daily hugs and snuggles. Our time in her early childhood phase was so limited, but I think we made the most of it.

Her next step into adulthood looms large. She is back home now, navigating her next steps. She just got hired for her first teaching position as an adjunct professor at the local community college. At 23. She’ll do that as she researches PhD programs.

Though she’s a far cry from that wiggly 10-year-old, she’s still a ball of curious energy. As independent as she is, she still leans on her parents at times. As always, we are happy to be there and weather any storm for her. It is our honor to continue giving her what she needs to bravely take those next steps on her own.

Ask away, Julia.  Ask away.