A Rite Of Embarrassing Passage

Bridget, who is nine and a feather weight even when holding 15 lb dumb bells and who also converted her tiny closet into an American Girl Doll condominium, had The Movie at school today.

Based on her descriptions of the clothes the girls wore, I am convinced this is the same "hygiene" Movie I saw in the late 70s. I don't remember, though, the theme song she sang for me --which was something like, 

"it's right around the corner/ 

right around the corner!/ 

oh lucky me!/ puuuuubbbbeertyyyy!"

There was some clapping thing involved too, which sounds menstrually cultish, kinda like a Mini Red Tent for 4th graders, but anyway, I don't remember there being a song to accompany the embarrassment and the horror of The Movie when I was a girl grade schooler. 

I do however remember my teacher telling me that if I inserted a tampon incorrectly (um, where? what? insert?), as had once happened to my teacher, I might spontaneously orgasm. That's right: spon.tain.ee.us.lee.oar.gaz.um. 

I had no idea what that loon was talking about, but it scared me. Honestly, it was a good ten years while later before I realized that what she was talking about wasn't actually a dangerous thing like suddenly catching fire or getting a tapeworm. And then? In 8th grade, when we had the Actual Sex Talk, our (male) teacher showed us a Real Live Diaphragm and I laughed out loud with such force I think my gum is still lodged in the wall of that science room at that school. I am kind of a prude about this stuff.

When Bridget came home with a sample pack of "sanitary napkins" (hrrumph) and a mini sized deodorant, I took a deep breath and tried to shake off my historical puritanism. I said oh-cool-nice-cute (the mini deodorant, as it turns out, is quite adorable) and I tried to act all laid back, tried to channel my inner cool mom. I kicked my feet up on the coffee table -- look! I'm non-chalant! -- while flipping through her paperwork and said, you know most of this stuff, right (because after all, we had already gone there, in the car once, on the way home from soccer, like Oprah advised), but did you learn anything? 

Before I could finish, she said YESSSS! YESSSS I did, and I thought: crap, here it comes. 

Mom, she said, sweat glands look like giant pink tongues and it's deeesgusting and that deodorant smells like Tums!

And she, my brilliant girl, was right yet again: that adorable deodorant did kind of smell like Tums.

She stashed her semi-grown up goody bag in her drawer upstairs, safe for years there until she needs it, and I waited downstairs, aging a little bit more than I do on typical days, waiting for her to come back to me.