It was a blue book that my mother presented to me. I wasn’t allowed to put it under my bed, nor would I have wanted to, Obstetrical Nursing, a remnant of another time in her life.
The circumstance that led to the conversation was an upcoming visit from my cousin. She was eleven months older than I, taller and years ahead in terms of development and maturity.
On a beautiful summer day, my mother sat me down at the kitchen table. She didn’t look angry. In fact, her expression was more one of a wise spiritual guide who was to open the door to some previously unknowable information.
Hands cradling the book, she explained that if while my cousin was visiting, we ever had the opportunity to go swimming and, my cousin declined, I wasn’t to question her.
“Why would she not want to go swimming?” It was summer and hot. Why? My cousin loved to swim.
The question seemed to reassure my mother that indeed this was a well-timed conversation, that I definitely would have embarrassed my poor cousin. “She’s gotten her period.”
Now, I had three older sisters, whom I’m sure already had passed through this stage, but I had no idea what my mother was talking about. I got more confused when she opened the book and began to explain about uteruses and babies and showed me an illustration of one inside the other.
Still, I wasn’t sure what this had to do with my cousin or swimming.
Then my mother told me about the blood, and how it was a sign that the uterus was preparing to house the baby. “It happens every month, to all women. When you get older, it will even happen to you.”
I have a vague memory of her explaining Kotex sanitary napkins. This reminded me of when my friend’s brothers being sent to the store to pick up "napkins" came back coming a box of Kotex. They were quite pleased with themselves that they’d manage to purchase such a huge supply.
I smiled knowingly. Of course, those boys didn’t know about periods. I liked having this grown up information and being in some special girls-only territory, which led to my next question. “Does Daddy know about this?”
“Oh yes,” she assured me. “If it happens and I’m not home, you can tell him.”
Having babies sounded interesting enough to my eight-year-old mind. Being a married woman and a mother seemed quite exciting, something to which I aspired someday.. But it was summer, and I was eager to go out to play.
Observing my restlessness, Mother added. “If you have any questions, you can ask me anytime.” She waited. “Do you have any questions?”
A question was forming in my Catholic School brain. My mother must have sensed that she could continue this teachable moment that she seemed to be enjoying.
“This happens so you can have babies, right?”
“Yes,” she smiled reassuringly.
“And you said it happens to all women?”
“Of course. All women.”
“But not to nuns, right?”
“Even to them,” Mother said with a sigh.
“Okay, can I go now?” I got up from the table more confused than ever.
Mary-Jo Murphy
Happy Valentine's Day