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Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 20, 2009 || 5:19 pm

milestones versus millstones

wherein scout illustrates the kind of week it has been
:: wherein scout illustrates the kind of week it has been ::

My spirit is a young-like, coltish thing, always bucking about exuberantly, noticing things like the impossible green of the grass and the sweet rosiness of smiling babies. Said spirit is understandably flummoxed, then, when faced with the reality that I’ve got two people under my roof that are near-grown by legal standards.

The fact that Sam will be eighteen in a smattering of weeks –mere weeks!– and that grown men do double takes at Scout (grrrr) startles that young spirit on occasion, making it go all wide-eyed and giving it a surly case of the hiccups. It’s not entirely the fault of my spirit that I forget that I’m ‘middle-aged’; I mean, hell, I’ve got great skin hell bent on helping me delude myself. If only my knees would get on board!

And now, proof positive that I have at least one foot hovering over the grave: My daughter, my sole female heir, had her First Official Girlparts Visit this week. Holy! Holy! Sheeyut!

Recently she’s been having a dollop of unusual behavior in her, ahhh, Dainty Plumbing, which her primary care doc thought we should have investigated in a more detailed fashion. So here comes mother to the rescue, setting up the appointment and agonizing internally about how we are going to navigate the morass of emotion that she may have. I’m not real great at being Scout’s mother sometimes, because she is such a self-reliant, stable little cuss. She’s never been overtly physical like the rest of the family. She’s extremely body-conscious where Sam and Mathias would live a pants-free existence forever if so allowed. And, truth be known, so would I.

So I waited quietly, nervously, for her to approach me on this matter. The night before the appointment, she did. She asked questions about what would happen and how; I answered them very frankly, trying to convey to her that there should be no shame for her in this experience and I would be waiting in the wings to judey-chop any person infringing on her modesty and/or sense of safety.

“Do you have to be in there with me?”

“No ma’am, not if you don’t want me to. And should you decide you do want me there, I certainly won’t be on the fifty yard line…I’ll be floating all ghost-like in the corner with my head so far in a book that you’ll have to turn some pages just to get my attention.”

“I don’t want you in there. Not for The Thing.”

“Okey dokey. If you change your mind between now and tomorrow then that will be fine as well.”

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

My first visit to the Enchanted Girlparts Doctor was embarked upon completely alone. I was seventeen, and I don’t remember if my mother even asked if I wanted her to come along. She made the appointment, I showed up and was pretty much handed a gown, told to disrobe and that the doc would be along shortly to get things underway.

I sat on the table, looking at my feet, configuring them in all sorts of ways, this toe to that, bottoms together, the sole of one foot kissing the top of the other, to pass the time until the knock came at the door. A pleasant enough, handsome enough man came into the room, followed by a female nurse. He asked me to lie back on the table, explaining his intent toward a breast exam, toward showing me how a self-examination worked, as well.

I reclined, exhaled somewhat nervously and heard him chuckle, “Ah, I’m going to need you to remove your bra.”

He then excused himself, and I did the little unsnap-pull-the-straps-through-armholes trick that we learned as part of the feminine arts for surviving locker rooms and summer camp and the like.

Back again, he instructed me to lie back, started to explain what he was doing, looking at my face or the opposing wall as he circled and prodded the boobage. Midway through, he stopped short, cocked his head to one side and asked, “Hon, are you still wearing your panties?”

Oh sheesh. I was not embarrassed up until this point, but now I was ashamed because how stupid was I that I’d been sexually aware and active and responsible for some time but had no earthly idea as to how to conduct myself during something so monumental and important as my First Official Girlparts Visit? I felt self-conscious, like some unprepared, whey-faced hayseed gone to the big city.

So he left the room once again, I shimmied out of my pink bikinis and hopped back up onto the table, a little worse for wear. To say that I was phenomenally unprepared this rather big deal of an occasion would be a gross understatement. It was my good fortune to have a doctor that was sensitive to his patient, though, and explained thoroughly what we were there to accomplish.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

We got Scout signed in, I said hello to my friend Suze, we took seats near the broad expanse of window-walls at the far end of the waiting room. Settling into opposing couches, we both cracked books, reading as we waited. I will take this opportunity to share with you that I was appalled at how many times over the next hour that fifteen- and sixteen-year-old little things heavily round with Teh Pregnant waddled in. I tried very hard to employ my poker face, but it hurt my heart to calculate that approximately eighty percent of the expectant mothers we saw that morning were extremely young and (hopefully still) unwed. Ow, ow, ow, my left ventricle wailed with each bump of the ticker. My left ventricle is where I keep my compassion; the other three chambers are completely awash in righteous indignance, but were too stunned by the left ventricle’s sorrow to activate phasers.

Finally shown back to what must have been the hinterlands of Country Ohbeeghine, we were turned into a little room and left to our own devices.

“Okay, after she comes in and we talk, you are leaving, correct?”

“Yes, Scouty, yes. I swear I am not here to make this a mortifying experience.”

Scout had specifically requested a ladyperson for this endeavor, so I had found her one. She came in, introduced herself, asked two or three questions of me and then focused completely on Scout. This made me comfortable and happy, her treating my daughter as a capable person in her own right. She explained things that Scout already knew and invited any questions. Then Scout was handed a drape (with the benefit of explaining that all undergarments were to be removed, natch) and I excused myself to the lobby.

A little while later the nurse came out to summon me back. I found a completely unrattled daughter, dressed and with ankles crossed daintily, reading her book serenely. The powers that be left to write a prescription and a school excuse and Scout looked up at me with her eyes merry.

“Her name is Pie and she is sweet as everything, how great is that?”

“You realize you lead a pretty charmed existence, yeah?” was the question that slipped past my grin.

She smiled with no teeth and all innocence, “I know.”

7 worked it out »

  1. Coelecanth 9.21.2009

    And THAT is why my wife is flatly forbidden to die before me. Or go to jail, or get abducted by aliens. Deal with a poo bomb nappy? Sure, bring it on. Stare down monsters, real or imagined? Yup, with a smile and a song in my heart. Hell, I’ll even refrain from flensing and jointing the first person to break her heart. But THAT? I will handle such a thing if I must, but only if I’m all on my lonesome.

  2. Coelecanth 9.21.2009

    Oh and in the spirit of sharing:

    I had a bout with ulcerative colitis a few years back. The place I got my colonoscopies done was a teaching hospital. The Dr. asked if it would be ok if a student sat in. Sure, I said, wanting to do my bit. He didn’t mention that the student would be a tall, blond goddess, with that shiny otherworldy beauty reserved for the very young who are convinced that they are indeed adults now. ” All right, all right” I thought, I can do this. “No big deal. Just act cool and everything will be fine.” And it was. Right up until they popped the heart rate monitor on my finger. That little bastard beep,beep,beep gave me away. No pretending to be cool when yer heart is 110 and everybody knows it. Damn.

  3. Jettomatika 9.21.2009

    …and also your tent-pants?


  4. Coelecanth 9.21.2009

    Ha! When one spends a goodly portion of one’s life as a teenage boy one becomes skilled at the concealing. Mind you, the backless gown I was in, fetching though it was, made the task difficult.

  5. Zoe Right 9.23.2009

    Parenting (almost) grown people is not for the weak. I shared this fun experience not long ago…felt like a little kid. I wanted to stomp my feet, lay on the ground, bury my face and howl…But they aren’t supposed to grown up.

    Supergirl’’s 14 yr old friend is preggers- after the first time she had sex- killing me.

  6. The Stiletto Mom 9.23.2009

    Gah…my first appointment was so horrible. My mother (born in 1924…and we didn’t speak of THOSE THINGS) gave me zero warning. I have never felt so violated in my life.

    Can I call you when my kids get to this age? Because the thought of all this makes me cower in a corner all fetal like. I’ll be sure to let my daughter know what she is in for but OMG…I am just not ready for this.

    Well handled Jett.

  7. TwoBusy 9.24.2009

    Thank god I plan to be long dead before either of my girls pass o’er this particular bridge. Although, should I be unfortunate enough to find myself alive when girlparts doctoring becomes a factual and reasonable concern, I can only pray TheWife handles it with half the aplomb and smoooooooth coolness you demonstrated therein.


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