Late Bloomer

by Shauna on January 25, 2012

Aside from being the last girl in my middle school class to kiss a boy, I was also the last one to get boobs AND my period. I remember the day Jill came to school wearing a bra. She had to, she said. Her boobs had come in and were poking through her shirt. Her mom ran out to K-Mart and brought back three off-while cotton bras, size 32B.

I stood in the middle of the group of girls as she told us the story. We were fascinated as she went into great detail about her bras and her boobs and what a pain it already was to have these little melon balls getting in her way all the time. She couldn’t even sleep on her stomach anymore, she said. It was too uncomfortable. As I listened to her go on about her size 32Bs, I panned the other girls’ chests. There were definitely noticeable buds there, just beginning to bloom. Very soon, every one of these girls would come to school with a story just like Jill’s. It was inevitable and I knew it. I looked at my own chest. Nothing. Not a hint of a gland or a bulge or a knot. Just two flat pink circles taking up space on my too-flat chest. And this bothered me.

Stupid Jill with her stupid boob story.

It wasn’t long before Jill and the other girls had a new story to tell. It involved blood and maxi pads and the ability to now birth a child. You know, if they wanted to. In health class one day Mrs. Miller sent the boys to the gym to play kick ball while she went into a forty-five minute discussion about Our Changing Bodies.

I remember thinking how unfair it was that the boys got free time while we had to sit and stare at the mole on Mrs. Miller’s left cheek while she explained how to properly insert a panty-liner into your underwear. I noticed that the mole seemed to be bigger than it had been the year before. Yes, it was definitely bigger.

And one time while I was asking her a question about something having to do with the respiratory system, her mole moved. I swear to god. It was the creepiest thing I’d ever seen. It was like it was alive and moving. It seemed to pulsate like it had a heartbeat and everything. I wondered how Mrs. Miller ever convinced a man to marry her with that gigantic black mole on her face. Was he blind, perhaps? Or at the very least, far-sighted? Or was he just into gross stuff like that. Because looking at her mole made me want to vomit. Personally, if I had something like that on my face I wouldn’t be seen in public until it was promptly removed. In my opinion it needed to be studied by scientists. It was that bizarrely human-like.

As she went on about how our bodies were going to be changing over the next few years and how, after menstruation began, what a huge responsibility that was, because of the possibility of pregnancy and everything, I thought to myself, “what did starting my period have to do with pregnancy?”

I was so dumb.

Seriously, it’s hard to even tell this story without realizing what a complete idiot I was back in junior high. But in my defense, it wasn’t my fault. My mom wasn’t one of those moms who talked to her kids about uncomfortable stuff like that. In fact, I looked to my friends for getting most of the useful information I needed. Like about shaving your legs, applying mascara, and which direction to swirl your tongue when French-kissing a boy.

In the spring of my 8th grade year I was running track. I had mistakenly told the coach that I enjoyed running long distances so he put me in all the long distance races. The mile AND the two mile.

On one track meet day, a storm moved in. It rained and thundered and there were threats of tornados. So the track meet was canceled. But not because my coach wanted to cancel it. No, he was pretty sure we could still compete (AND WIN!) even though it was raining side ways. But the principal made him call it off.

I was grateful. My stomach was hurting but that wasn’t unusual for days I would be competing. I always got nervous. I wanted to perform at my peak and everything that entailed, so it was very common for me to literally make myself sick about it.

I’d missed the bus since I was staying after school for the meet, but my friend Amy’s mom was able to drive me home. My mom was still at work.

After getting out of Amy’s mom’s car, I said thank you and waved goodbye. Then I had this overwhelming feeling—like I needed to use the bathroom and it couldn’t wait. I fumbled with my house key. I needed to get inside—AND FAST!

But I couldn’t make the key work (I still have no explanation for this) and decided to drop my sweat bottoms right there in the bushes in my front yard. And that’s when I noticed all the blood.

I started my period in my front yard.

(That’s also the name of my new TV reality show—all rights reserved)

Horrified and freaked out, I pulled up my sweat pants and once again fumbled with my house key, my hands shaking with fear. When I was finally able to get the key to cooperate and unlock the door, I ran inside the house and called my mom at work.
“Mom. Something terrible has happened.”
“WHAT? Are you OK?”
“No. I’m not. I’m bleeding.”
“Oh my gosh, where are you bleeding? How bad is it? Run to the neighbor’s house.”
“Mom. It’s not like that. I’m bleeding. From my you know what.”
“You started your period?”
And then she started to laugh. “Oh Shauna. You’re not a little girl anymore. Surely I’m not old enough to have a daughter who has her period.”
“Mom. MOM. Can we focus on me please? What do I do? And can we make it stop? I don’t want to do this.”
“Look under the sink in my bathroom. There’s a box of maxi pads. Put one in your panties.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“This sucks.”

Later that night I was in my room getting ready for bed when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. My step-dad opened it, came inside, and handed me a paper sack. I looked inside and found a box of maxi pads. My face turned bright red and I thought I was going to die—right there on top of my brand new JC Penney comforter.
HE KNEW? I wanted to die.
I threw the bag on the bed and ran out of the room, leaving him standing there. I yelled out for my mom. I found her in the kitchen, washing a pan.
“You told Don?”
“I had to, Shauna. What if he went in the bathroom and found you in the tub covered in blood?”
Wait. Hold the phone. There was a possibility I would, at some point, to be COVERED IN BLOOD? I couldn’t focus on THAT then. I was too upset.
“Why would he come in the bathroom if I was in there? He’s never done that before! God Mom, you have such a big mouth. This is so embarrassing. I can never look at him again. EVER.”
She told me she was sorry, but I know for a fact she wasn’t. She seemed proud of the fact that I was growing up—and could now, biologically and physiologically, bear children—if I wanted to—and had I, at that point, put two and two together that sex plus getting your period meant the possibility of having a baby—which was what Mrs. Miller was getting at—you know, if I’d understood all that. Which I didn’t.
While most of my friends were switching from wearing bulky maxi pads to inserting tampons in their vaginas, I was still wearing maxi pads. When I asked my mom about tampons I think her answer was something like, you think you’re ready to stick your fingers in your tee-tee?
I honestly had no idea what your fingers, your tee-tee, and tampons had to do with each other but just the sound of all three of those things together terrified me. So I just stuck with maxi pads and never brought up the subject again.
But one day Amy was over and was on her period. And so was I! This was so great! We had something to talk about and compare and what have you. She pulled a tampon out of her purse…
I had seen one before you know. But only because at school one day this girl, Shelley, dropped her purse on the floor in the middle of class and two or three tampons fell out. Some of the boys started laughing and pointing and Shelley got all embarrassed and ran out of the room. One of the boys picked one up and said “Looks like somebody’s on the rag,” and everyone around started laughing. I felt horrible for Shelley. And I made double sure my purse was zipped, snapped, and attached to my person at all times.
So Amy walks to the bathroom with a tampon in her hand. I cleared my throat and asked, “You have any extras?”
“Of course? You wanna try and use one?”
I got a sick, nervous feeling in my stomach, but at the same time I wanted to know what it was like to not have a gigantic, bulky cotton blood soaker-upper in my underwear.
I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.
Next thing I know I’m squatting over the toilet while Amy is explaining how to properly insert a tampon in my vagina. After several failed attempts, it worked. Or at least it felt like it was working. I had no point of reference up to this point. But I kinda liked it. It was way less uncomfortable than having a pad with wings taking up all the space in my crotch.
What I didn’t consider at the time was that at some point I would need to remove it. Amy was long gone—her mom had picked her up a few hours earlier.
Mom was downstairs and I was sitting on the toilet, tugging and pulling on the tampon string. Here’s the thing about vagina muscles—they’re strong. And if you’re not relaxing them, they’re engaged. Like having your head caught in a lion’s mouth, engaged.
But I didn’t know this. I didn’t know to relax. And breathe. And that the combination of relaxing the vagina muscles and pushing and breathing would help you with the task of removing a tampon.
Instead I panicked and screamed, “MOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!”
She heard me and raced up the stairs. She tried to open the bathroom door but it was locked. Naturally. I always locked the door these days. With two younger brothers there was never any privacy. And a girl with a bleeding vagina and pubic hair needed her privacy.
I hobbled, legs spread, shorts at my ankles, to the door and unlocked it.
“What is it?” She asked, panic-stricken.

“Amy helped me use a tampon and now it’s stuck. Do NOT tell Don!”
Mom walked me back to the toilet, told me to sit on it and relax. I sat. I tried my best to relax. She told me to breathe in and breathe out. In and out. And then on the next out she said, “Pull.” So I pulled.
And dammit if that tampon didn’t come out of my vagina and plop itself in the toilet.
What a relief. Also, I’m pretty sure my mom told my step-dad even though I specifically asked her not to. It’s like they needed my every day drama for their own amusement.
I can see why adults have children. And after a few years I finally GOT how periods and babies were related.

See? Late bloomer.

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{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }

Gil Gonzalez January 25, 2012 at 11:12 am

I have a pre-teen daughter. I wonder if you know how interesting an experience it is to read a blog such as your all the while maintaining a finger in each year and yelling, ” La la la la la la la la la la la la la.”

…but seriously, this was hysterical (although I think you MIGHT have to rename your reality TV show).
Gil Gonzalez´s last blog post ..024/365 Bed Geek


KristenMV January 25, 2012 at 1:21 pm

My friend was Laura. She was always way ahead of the game on everything – boys, kissing, periods and tampons. I will never forget her tutorial on tampons in the h.s. bathroom. After 15 minutes I just said “I got it!”, which I didn’t but I wasn’t going to tell her that. I didn’t try a tampon for another 2 more years!
KristenMV´s last blog post ..I Talk In My Sleep


laura January 25, 2012 at 5:15 pm

I was a (very) late bloomer, but I was also one of the first to use tampons because I couldn’t deal with the alternative. I became known as the one to help you learn to use the ‘pon.

I was secretly very proud of this. Like it made up for the being late with…everything else.


shana January 26, 2012 at 6:17 pm

I was the last to start in my peer group as well (mid-eigthth grade, so 13-sh). I was too “I got this” to actually ask anyone (including my mom) about how tampons work. So I bought my own and figured it out. Except… while I was doing a halftime show for a basketball game a few weeks later, (Shauna knows me so I am sure she realizes how ridiculous this concept is), something actually fell out of my little spanky pants. I picked it up, mortified; it was the applicator. Who knew?


Crystal January 26, 2012 at 6:21 pm

I wasn’t a late bloomer at all. By the time I was in 7th grade I was wearing a C cup and had already had my period for a year. I lived with my cousins who never used tampons so I never knew how to use them and used pads all throughout middle and high school. I didn’t use tampons until I started my freshman year of college…and only then because I couldn’t imagine my roommates judging me for using pads and making fun of me. It was hard enough to hide my vibrator…I didn’t want them to find pads too!
Crystal´s last blog post ..The blonde debacle of 2011-2012


Karen January 27, 2012 at 10:20 am

This is hysterical! thank you for my morning laugh.
Karen´s last blog post ..Dreaming About My New Kitchen


Jennie January 27, 2012 at 10:57 am

I was a late bloomer, too. I was lucky enough to get my period on APRIL FOOL’S DAY on an OUT OF TOWN field trip and all they had was TAMPONS (thanks a lot GOD!!!)!! I tried the tampon, and there was NO WAY that thing was going up in me. Luckily, the nice old lady bathroom attendant went across the street to the Walgreens and got me a box of pads for me.

I didnt get boobs until I got pregnant and put on 30 pounds.


sarah January 27, 2012 at 2:18 pm

Your writing insists upon itself. Stop clogging dead horses that weren’t that funny to begin with.


Shauna January 27, 2012 at 2:56 pm

I’m not sure I’m smart enough to fully understand your comment, but I would like to go on the record here. I would never, ever, hurt a horse. Or any other animal for that matter.


rachel January 27, 2012 at 5:59 pm

this is awesome.
rachel´s last blog post ..Rage Against the Rodent Day 2


sparkling74 January 28, 2012 at 7:57 am

THis story is hysterical on so many levels. First, because I was the last in my group to get everything. Second because your mother said you might be in the tub one day, COVERED IN BLOOD. That’s so bizarre. And Third because in your terror over having a tampon stuck in you for the rest of your life, you didn’t forget her big mouth and told her not to tell Don! My mother didn’t help me with mine, I didn’t even tell her for the first few months. God only knows who she told after that. It was probably on the front page of our local paper. I remember running into a fellow teacher who told me that another colleague’s daughter had just called to tell her she had started her period so she went home to counsel her daughter. I stood in the parking lot of the grocery wondering how on God’s earth he knew that. Mothers are so weird!!
sparkling74´s last blog post ..I Am So Not the Pioneer Woman


LilMumma January 28, 2012 at 10:55 am

My first period decided to come on Xmas day, while I was opening presents at my Aunt and Uncle’s house, while wearing a pink jogging suit jumper (don’t ask me why I was wearing that, it was cool back then …. and also my fav outfit, that was never to be worn again…) Yep…. Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Dave and thirteen other members of my family… all saw it… and then I had to wear that huge pad AND my aunt’s clothes, which were too big… and everybody kept hugging me and telling me how great it was that I am a woman now… even drunk old Uncle Howard…. it was simply fantastic…


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