Ophelia's Mom Loving and Letting Go of Your Adolescent Daughter

Into Adolescent Territory Driving Lesson by Jean L. McGroarty I hand her the keys and sit on the passenger side of the car. I think of her in the stroller, on the tricycle, in the bumper cars at the fair, and I see her now, ready to drive my car. She turns the key and I think of her playing with my keys before she could walk, making them jingle and squealing with delight. The car starts and she tentatively tries to shift into reverse. I think of her on her first pair of roller skates, inching along, trying not to fall. She backs the car out of the parking space, shifts into drive, and moves ahead. I try not to gasp, try not to make any noise, high or low, try to be cool, to let her drive the car without comment or complaint from the passenger seat. I think of the look on her face on her first day of nursery school, and it reminds me of the look on her face now, cool blue eyes looking into the future with confidence and curiosity. Her lessons in life go on, and for a while I'm along for the ride. Blood and Tears Daughter to Mother for Alicia Alexandra by Marianne Peel Forman I lie in bed with my baby daughter nestled under my arm, nursing. I am perfectly connected to my baby's body, soothed by my biological purpose, wrapped in tranquillity. My mind rests on one thought: "For this alone, I would be reborn." I melt into sleep. I never felt completely physically comfortable with another human being until I gave birth to Manju, my first child. She slipped out of my body into the world, a little girl, just like me. We bonded in the bathroom. At first, in the bathtub, giggling at the green wind-up frog. Later, in front of the mirror, fussing with our hair. Then, one day, she shut the door behind her. I was no longer allowed to enter. Her body had begun to be too much like mine. The time had come for privacy. The embarrassment that comes with leg hair and budding breasts and menstruation: It's as confusing to a mom as it is to her daughter. For Sandra Hunter, a family practitioner in a western city, menstruation is the basic currency of everyday life. Every moment of her workday, she deals with the ins and outs of female sexuality. At home, she talked openly about menstrual woes and never thought to hide her tampons. Yet confronted with the sight of her daughter's first bloody underwear, she spoke of her bewilderment: Too Self-conscious for Words A Story from Sandra Hunter, M.D. "About a month ago, I walked into my daughter's room. Tina was packing for a camping trip with her uncle and his son. "Her panties and jeans were on the floor, soaked with blood. I was shocked. I had no idea she'd started menstruating. I blurted out, 'Why didn't you tell me you had gotten your period?' "Tina clenched her teeth and told me, 'I didn't want you to know.' Then she screamed, 'Go away.' "She absolutely refused to talk to me. She was going away and I couldn't figure out how to give her pads. What could I do? "I wrapped some pads in pretty paper, put a bow on the present, and attached a card. All it said was Congratulations! I figured she could just take them along with her, without having to talk, without having to admit she was bleeding, without feeling embarrassed. "When she left, I walked back into her room. Her stained jeans were still on the floor. The package was open. Only one pad was gone. "A few days later, my brother-in-law called, perturbed. 'Why didn't you tell me she had her period? You didn't send any pads with her.' She'd bled through while hiking. "When she came home, I insisted we talk. After all, she needed basic information. "I told her to take pads or tampons to school. She wouldn't hear of it. She yelled, practically stomped her feet. 'No. No. No. I'll never do that.' "I don't know what she'll doShandler, Nina is the author of 'Ophelia's Mom Loving and Letting Go of Your Adolescent Daughter' with ISBN 9781400046911 and ISBN 1400046912.