The Talk

In a week, she will be 11 years old. I started less than a month after I turned 11. I knew it was well past time to have "The Talk," but it never made it to the top of my daily to-do list, and she never asked any questions. Frankly, I took her lack of inquisitiveness as clear indication that she had probably already gained a good bit of knowledge from the Americ*n Girl "Body Book" I found at the thrift store last year, and her girlfriends. I know from their mothers that several of her peers have started.
But when we were at my parents' house for Thanksgiving, my dad wanted to know what kind of deals I had nabbed with cuponing. When I told him I hadn't stockpiled much--just sugar and maxi-pads--Abby asked, "What's a maxi-pad?" My folks were aghast that I hadn't had "The Talk" and were pretty insistent that I move it up on my list of priorities. I don't know why they had their panties all in a wad. Their version of "The Talk" was Mom putting on a National Geographic film and leaving the room. Afterwards, Mom asked if I had any questions (I would have rather gnawed off my own tongue than to ask them). Dad wasn't even home.
But I digress. A few days ago we got some very troubling, saddening news concerning a relative. I knew I could not put it off another day, and it needed to include considerably more than menustration. I grabbed the "Body Book" and we headed down to the Sonic where I ordered pumpkin pie shakes, took a deep breath, and said,"Sweetheart, we need to talk."
Abby, already uncomfortably suspicious--not accustomed to being served Sonic shakes for no good reason--groaned, "Why do I suddenly feel as though I should be sitting on a porch swing?" (The porch swing is a euphamism in our family for a serious heart-to-heart conversation because that is where Daddy always called us to when it was time for a come to Jesus meeting.)
I wanted to have that conversation about as much as she wanted to hear it, but I'm so glad I did. Contrary to what I believed, she knew NOTHING about ANYTHING. If she had started her periods, she would have been terrified--thinking she was bleeding to death. She was equally clueless regarding the s€x Ed portion of our discussion. I was actually incredulous at her ignorance, at first thinking it to be feigned due to the embarrassment of talking with me about such things, but no, the longer I talked, I could tell it was genuine. I felt a sense of satisfaction that the master and I have been so totally successful in sheltering our kid's innocence, but I also felt frustration that because of the world we live in, I cannot be so
foolish as to allow that niativity to continue.
She listened, eyes as round as dinner plates, mouth sometimes dropping open:
"That's amazing!"
"Ugh, Mom, that's so gross. I don't want my shake anymore."
"Mom, you can't be serious."
And finally,
"Mom, how are you ever going to explain all this to Marina?"
Oh, Lord, give me strength.