The Post Office.
Growing up without a mother was always going to be tough but not
always in the ways you would think. I grew up in a family that
practiced modesty.
We didn’t talk about body parts, puberty or sex. Perhaps my parents
thought school would fill us in. It didn’t. The dictionary was my only
resource and I was crushed to find that words like ‘boob’ or ‘front
bottom’ were not listed. My knowledge was scant.
I had two grandmothers, my mom had three sisters, my aunts. I had
another aunt on my father’s side. At church I called several women
‘auntie.’ Not one of them stepped forward to walk me through
puberty. It was just me and the library. My sister took pity on me when
she found me stuffing toilet tissue into my knickers.
“Go see the woman in the post office” she advised.
Full of optimistic naiveté, I walked down the road to the post
office, which was housed at the bottom of our road. It was part of a
classic British row of shops - mini-mart, fish and chip shop,
hairdresser, newsagent and post office. The post office was within a
shop selling mostly hardware or cleaning products. The one employee
would use a key to unlock the post office counter when needed. I stood
awkwardly while she sold stamps to an older lady.
“Can I help you?”
“Erm, I, uhm, my sister said I should talk to you.”
“Why?”
My bright scarlet face was clearly not going to clue her in. I was
mortified and angry. She was supposed to know.
Was she really going to make me say “it” here, in the post office?
Maybe my sister was supposed to have given me a code word. I shuffled
my feet and felt my cheeks burn.
“Oh” she said, “I see.”
Finally.
She beckoned me to the shelves. There was an array of plastic
packets.
“Do you have a belt?”
Of course I have a belt – it holds my jeans up, why? Was she going to
make me remove my clothes? Did I have to have a fitting?
Could the floor just swallow me up please.
“Yes – I have a belt.”
“OK, here you go then.”
She put my packet into a brown paper bag, I paid with the money I’d
brought from my piggy bank and bolted.
Back at home, I was confronted by a thick pad with loops at either
end. Why? I read the packet, ‘Put the loops through your sanitary
belt’ it instructed.
The belt. Damn it. I didn’t have that kind of belt. I was a
motherless, twelve year old, how would I have that kind of belt?
I trudged back to the post office. “No belt,” I mumbled.
In 1980’s Britain, returning items was not done, unless, they were
broken or defective. The only defect here was that my mother was dead
and no-one had considered that I might need to know about periods,
but I had no more money and the toilet tissue was not going to get me
through school, so I stood there with a slightly defiant look on my
tortured, red face. She saw my despair and swopped the packet for one
with the sticky strips.
This is where we all sigh with relief. I had my products, all was well.
Except. Here’s where the modesty issue raises it’s ugly head again. I
knew nothing about my body, not even the names for its parts. Unless
you count “front bottom” which is really just plain
misleading. Anything below the belly button was to be hidden,
unexplored and generally ignored. I didn’t think about it, look at it
or acknowledge it. I could experience embarrassment about my nethers
while alone in the bathroom. So when I took my shiny new packet of
sanitary products up to the bathroom I just blindly popped a pad into
my undies and got out of there as quickly as possible. It was weeks
later that I finally confided in a school friend that I had got my
period. We giggled and gossiped about PMS and then I uttered the words
that would plague me through the rest of high school – four long years....
“Doesn’t it really hurt when you pull the pad off and some of your
hairs come with it?”
My friend rolled on the floor laughing for around ten minutes
before she could finally tell me that the sticky strip should be
applied to your knickers - not you.
I find it ironic that women now
pay good money for that service every six weeks or so. I should have
patented it.
The Diaper-Free Baby: The Natural Toilet Training Alternative by Christine Gross-Loh
ReplyDeleteEC Simplified: Infant Potty Training Made Easy by Andrea Olson
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