The Yes Factor - Erin Spencer Page 0,38
Xanadu of Astral Planes,” how he “holds space for the enlightenment of the tribe” and that his “Chakra centering left me feeling a buzz stronger than my last Wu Tang concert.” That last one is written by the one and only Skip Stone—I gotta go to class just to see this guy in person!
Suddenly, my FaceTime pops up with a call from Maddie. It’s late for her to be calling and I answer immediately, worried that something is wrong.
“Hey, hon, everything okay?”
Her response is a combination of a groan, cry, and grimace. “Mom…”
Knowing the camp counselor would only give her phone access if it was important, I sit up trying to cover my concern with a soothing voice. “Honey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Talk to me.”
“Mom, I started my period,” she sobs out.
I know she’s had some anxiety about when she would get her period, but I’m surprised she seems this upset. Several of her friends have already started, so it’s not like this is totally unexpected. In fact, I think she was kind of looking forward to it, in a way. Although, I can understand how being away at camp and away from me might make it a little harder.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay. You knew this would happen at some point and remember I packed you some pads in your duffel bag just in case. Check the inside zipper pocket. That should get you through the night then you can go get some tampons from Nurse Joanne in the morning so you can still go swimming!” I say the last part with a bright smile, attempting to lighten her mood. When she doesn’t respond, but just looks into the phone with her scrunched up, tear-stained face, I reiterate, “It’s going to be okay.”
“What? I can’t put in a tampon! No! No way!” She breaks into hysterical sobs. “Mom,” she gasps. “You have to come get me! I don’t want to be here anymore. And I don’t want to talk to Nurse Jo about it either.”
I realize this is a scary time for her. That whether she was ready or not, she’s taking her first step into the unknown and confusing road to womanhood. Of course, she’s feeling vulnerable. I’ve done my best to raise her to be strong, fearless and independent, which means that I can’t bail her out every single time she asks.
“Maddie, I love you and I know you can handle this. You’ve known Nurse Jo since you were eight. She can help you out. This is a natural and normal thing to happen. We’ve talked about it before. If you don’t want to use a tampon, that’s totally fine, we can cross that bridge when you get home. You can wear pads in the meantime, and I’ll put in a call to make sure you have enough for the rest of camp. No big deal.”
I think I’m handling this okay. Tough love is hard and yes, there is a part of me that wants to go pick her up so we can eat ice cream in bed together and watch Mean Girls for the millionth time, but she’s going to have her period every month for the next few decades and I don’t want to make it a dramatic, or traumatic, thing.
Maddie, on the other hand, doesn’t seem consoled by my words in the slightest.
“Mom, how am I supposed to swim? And what about the relay? What is everyone going to think when I’m not in the water? I can’t wear a pad!” Her momentary indignation collapses into tears again. “You have to come pick me up. Now!”
“Maddie, honey, calm down. You can handle this. I know you can. You can wear a pad, and not swim, or see Nurse Jo about a tampon.” With a supportive smile I add, “You’ve got this, I know you do.”
But Maddie isn’t having any of it. She angrily wipes the back of her hand across her nose and with red eyes stares pointedly into the phone. “You’re abandoning me when I need you the most! You are a horrible mother!” And with that, she hangs up.
Dramatic much? I think. She’s treating me like I’m Joan Crawford!
I send her a quick text reminding her that I love her and that I am always here for her. I see the bubble of typing on her end, but she doesn’t end up sending a reply back to me. I do feel like a horrible mother for a moment,