As I watch my daughter grow up, shedding her toddler years faster than I could ever imagine, I am reminded of my own childhood -- and namely, puberty. Those fabulously awkward years can be summarized in one statement:

Make these things on my chest disappear please.

Covering my unwanted guests

When I was eight, I noticed I was growing boobs. My grandma called them mosquito bites, but at the time I thought they were the most prominent feature on my body. I went to great lengths to cover up these unwanted guests.

At first, I dug up all the little girl tank tops I could find in the bottom of my drawers. I wore one every day and positioned the too-tight elastic just in the middle of my budding mosquito bites to smash them down.  This worked for a while, until they grew a little more. When the too-tight tanks weren’t working, I went to an ace bandage. I would strap that bad boy on so tight across my chest that I couldn’t breath. The discomfort of organ restriction was well worth the temporary relief of my humiliation. I was developing far earlier then any of my friends. 

By the time I was ten, my mother made me buy a bra. It was one of the worst and most vivid memories of my childhood. My mom took my 12 year-old sister and me to Kaufmanns, a large department store in Pittsburgh. I was still in denial that I was a well-endowed ten year-old, so of course I went to the double A section. My mom humored me and allowed me to try this size on -- but I had mosquito bites no more! I was so hyper-sensitive to my mom’s voice level, the sales lady who was helping us, and the girls my age who were going to the little girl tank top section while I was shopping for the big boob bras. The sales lady and my mom were yelling (at the top of their lungs in my memory), “That one still doesn’t fit, let’s try an A! Nope still too tight, I think she needs a B!” Oh my god, I wanted to disappear. 

My first period

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse... When I was ten and in the fifth grade, the most dreadful thing happened to me. I was getting ready to go out to the rollerskating rink and then to a sleepover party with my friends. I went to the bathroom just before leaving and, “Oh crap.” I thought I had an accident in my pants. I didn’t know how this happened, but that is what it had to be, so I changed my underwear and went to the roller rink. I went to the bathroom while there, and I had a mess again, only this time it was red, not brown, so I immediately thought I was dying. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I knew if I called my mom she would come pick me up since I was dying and all, so I stuffed a bunch of toilet paper in my underwear and continued hanging out with my friends. I was really trying to enjoy myself since I was bleeding internally and this could be the last time I would see them. I continued to make frequent trips to the bathroom to clean up and stuff more toilet paper in my underwear. I even went to the sleepover, but never said a word to anyone about my terminal state.

In the morning, after my last get-together with my friends, I came home. I thought it was time to tell my mom that she had precious few moments with me. When my mom explained that I had just had my first period, I was relieved -- and then horrified. In this moment, the thought of dying has seemed more appealing then getting my period at age ten. I cried and screamed and carried on about how unfair this was. My mom agreed.

I still don’t know why this transition was so emotionally difficult for me. Maybe it was because I was a tomboy. Or it could have been that because I was so young, I was ill-prepared and I had no idea what the hell was happening to me. I was so scared. I remember my friends at age 12 and 13 who hadn’t gotten their periods yet and were jealous of me for having mine. I would have changed places with them in a minute. I hated my body and what it was doing without my consent.

Preparing my daughter

My daughter is five. I have thoroughly enjoyed watching her change from a chubby baby into a beautiful little girl; and all of the stages in between. The last few months I have seen rapid growth as she is leaving all traces of being a toddler or preschooler behind. Her face has thinned out, her hair has thickened, her legs are thin and long and her belly has disappeared. I fear what comes next! Despite eating a vegetarian diet and having an organic dairy-product freak of a mother, her puberty will come. In keeping with her genetic make up and family history, it will come sooner then I am ready.

I hope that she will welcome her changes and love her body.

I hope that I can prepare her so that she is not surprised. 

I hope that I do not project any of my "stuff" onto her. 

I hope that she handles it better than I did!

I am not ready and I wish that I could freeze her in time for a few more years. 

Ok Pinkies, what do you think? How do we prepare our children for puberty? What scary stories do you remember from your youth in this regard? Do you have any advice on how to prepare myself, let alone my daughter, for the changes ahead?

Looking for a conversation and some advice on this one!