It happened without warning. She announced it in the morning and I reacted as calmly as I could. Inside, however, I was mourning the loss of my baby as she slipped away into adolescence. Too soon. All I could do is look at the physical evidence she presented to me and confirm what she already knew; yep, this was definitely IT.
I only called one person, my mom, who was rather excited about the whole thing. My daughter was yelling in the background, though, embarrassed, "I can't believe you're telling Grandma! Don't you dare tell Grandpa!!" I assured her I wouldn't. That was Mom's job.
My partner gave her chocolate. Pretty appropriate, I'd say.
My eighteen-year-old made her a rather festive pink cake with Craisins in it and lots of red decorations. She wrote on it in red icing, "Welcome to Womanhood." We had her blow out one candle and I gave her one dollar. We tried to make light of the fact that she would be "suffering" this for the next 30 to 40-some-odd years of this. We joked that she made me "drop an egg" myself because I was so stunned. We called her a "woman" all day.
I hope she looks back on this day as a good memory. I mean, who gets a "Period Party?" Don't you wish you had one? I'd like one every month, really, but, let's not get outta control now.
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