My daughter hates Puberty

One day Sarah woke up and said, "Mommy, I hurt right here." She pointed to an area around the ribs, but her t-shirt was so bulky I couldn't see exactly the place she was talking about.

"Lift up your shirt so I can see better," says I.

"Close the blinds first," orders modest She. So I do. And that's when I saw it.

Development. The flat area that was her chest last year has risen and rounded slightly. When I told her that her breasts were "coming in" she reacted accordingly. She wished for a special sponge that could wipe them away.

I don't know if all girls are like this. What I remember from going through puberty was 1) when breasts grow, they hurt like hell. It either felt like my chest was put through a wringer washer or being crushed by a mountain. 2) When they finally showed up, I wasn't ready for the attention.

Makes me think of a line from "Support Your Local Sheriff." The mayor of the town is trying to explain his daughters' behavior to the Sheriff, "I think puberty hit her kinda hard." He's not far off. Between the hormones, zits (yes, Sarah's gotten one of those), breast buds and expectations of society and parents, I bet Sarah feels like she's got the weight of the world on her tiny, narrow shoulders.

I tried to alleviate her fears by giving advice. Growing up won't happen all at once. If you want to sleep with Noel or Shadowfax, you can. (I have to call them by name, I'm not allowed to call them Stuffed Animals.) Also, if you have any questions or comments about anything, let me know. And if I don't know the answer, I'll find someone who does.

I'm just trying to make an uncomfortable--albeit necessary--transition a little easier.