Today my heart broke just a little bit – the tiniest little crack that I’d put aside especially for this moment.
It was the day of her first period. I knew it was coming, the writing was on the wall and maybe I even felt it just a little bit, the same way I felt her kick before she arrived.
For the last few months I had been watching and waiting – almost rejoicing as she went another month without a sign. Each time, hoping the inevitable could be delayed if I kept my fingers crossed and ignored the probability.
This month, however was different. My beautiful 11 year old was on camp when she had an inkling – and perhaps I did too, as sentimental as it sounds, I’m sure I felt ‘a’ moment.
Lying in bed that same night, missing the comfort of all the beds in the house being filled, I knew the time was near – I’d even silently diarised the next weekend to have an extra little chat.
It’s not the growing up, apart, or even the speeding pre-teen years it’s more the biting realisation of change. It’s ‘the curse’ that’s upsetting, the loss of innocence or easiness that makes my heart ache just a little bit.
The momentous occasion was news for the whole family – in recognition of the event, her dear dad was directed to have a slug of wine prior to sharing. Unlike my dad’s generation, he’s involved in all aspects of her life and it was important to make him part of this too.
He was even sent for all the paraphernalia – why not I reasoned, had he not supported me through breast pads, maternity pads and all sorts of ‘women’s issues’ that arrive post birthing three babies.
Her little shy upset at her dad knowing was quickly replaced with a little bit of pride – a touch of excitement that someone else had been informed she was officially growing up.