The Menstruation Tea

My daughter and I have been invited to “The Menstruation Tea,” also known by its more palatable name, the “Celebrating Changes Tea.” When I first heard about it, I was curious, the way that I feel about certain things when I visit a foreign country. I might understand the value in a local custom, but it might not necessarily be something I need to try myself. I would reserve judgment until I had more information -- especially since I like tea. I would be open-minded, even in my denial that I actually have a daughter who may have changes to celebrate sometime soon.

So, I waited. After a couple weeks, I received the pre-Evite email, which explained the format of the tea:
Part of the talk is going over what to expect in puberty (covering hair growth, body changes, breast development), a simple explanation of anatomy and periods and introduction to pads and tampons.

Okay. This sounds like it might be helpful, even though I am still in denial. I continue reading:
... The second part of the talk is mothers sharing their stories of their first period with the kids (on a voluntary basis of course). This is a vital part [of] opening communication between mothers and their daughters.

Excuse me? Let me read that again. Yes, it did say what I thought it said: “mothers sharing their stories of their first period.” Excuse me?

If I were a better mother than I am, I would have only focused on the purported benefits my daughter would receive from being a part of this menstruation tea. Instead, I find myself flashing back to my first period -- which, I must make perfectly clear, I have not thought about at all in approximately thirty-two years. Now, I remembered parts of it as if it were yesterday, especially the fact that I was wearing white Dittos saddle back jeans and was at pre-seventh grade summer school when it happened. I had thought it was weird that Clyde Noguchi kept glancing over at my below-the-waist area that day as we sat in our neat aisles of desk/chairs, and when I got home, I figured out why. I think I “celebrated” by opening the bathroom vanity and finding my older sister’s stash of maxi pads, and washing my white pants in cold water.

Apparently, now we are supposed to have a party to get ready for this life changing event. I’m not opposed to this, but it’s just very ... foreign to me. I grew up in a community where these things were handled in a more private way. Sure, we had sex education at school, and at home, my mother let me know what to expect, with my sister as living proof. It was low-key and matter-of-fact. I knew I could ask questions, and knew that my mom and sister had answers, if I wanted them. If there were teas about menstruation going on in my community when I was growing up, I sure didn’t know about them.

I suppose it is all about spin, trying to make this transition into something happy and celebratory. Frankly, just thinking about my menstrual cycle makes me cranky. So I guess I understand wanting to present this as something worth having a special party for, but it still seems odd to me. I suppose the message is, “Hurray! You are now at the point in your life when you can start having cramps, bloating, spend a cumulative fortune on sanitary pads and tampons, not to mention birth control (which you shouldn’t need because you better not be having sex anytime soon, but I’ll tell you about it anyway) and you can get pregnant whether you want to or not, even if you are using birth control. And don’t forget the mood swings -- that’s the best part! Yippee!”

If we don’t go to the party, I risk having my daughter being the only girl we know who, whenever she gets her period, doesn’t get all happy about it. She will be doomed to be like me. Crampy and cranky. Maybe it’s just me, but the only time I have been happy to start my period is when I was late and thought I might be pregnant when I did not want to be pregnant. And getting my period when I was actually trying to get pregnant? That was like a dagger to the heart. Crampy, cranky and devastated. Yes, maybe it’s just me. But the reality of having a menstrual period is just not something I have ever felt that celebratory about.

I try to think of an equivalent “tea” that dads would have with their sons to celebrate changes. What would they do? Get together and watch some porn? Put condoms on pickles? Break out the beer and buffalo wings? If this event exists, I want to see the Evite, which I imagine would read: “You are invited to a Big Boys’ Bash featuring Boobs & Buffalo Wings.” Now, let's go around the room and each dad can talk about his first wet dream; Gary, why don't you go first?

I know this is really not something my husband wants to discuss with me, but I feel compelled to draw him into this dilemma I am facing. We talk about it for a while, and he is appropriately engaged and supportive. I read him the email, including the part that pertains to him: “Also, if someone's mom is not available, it is fine for that girl to tag along with someone else. I don't find it works though if dad's attend - the women just aren't as comfortable."

I look up to see him trying to keep the smirk off his face. “Too bad ... you are not invited to the tea,” I said, in the saddest voice I could muster.
“Oh, darn,” he said, in the saddest voice he could muster. And a snicker. For my husband, I am sure this menstruation tea party is just another reason for him to be happy that he’s a guy. I want to wave my oh-yeah-but-you-don’t-get-to-experience-the-joy-of-childbirth flag in his face, but then I realize that this would just make him react in the same way: “Oh, darn.” But he would know better than to snicker.

Further down in the email, there is this line: “... be prepared for the girls to be giggly and say they don't want to come. It is up [to] the mum's to point out [that] this is NOT optional.” Hmmm. So it is mandatory that my daughter go to this, because it says so, right here, in writing? Or are they saying that giggling is NOT optional? What’s wrong with giggling? I like giggling! I don’t agree with either interpretation: for me and my daughter, we reserve the right not to attend, and to giggle if we feel like it, if we do decide to go.

After mulling it over for a couple days, I decide that I need to ask my daughter what she thinks about this. I try to act like I think it would be just lovely to sit around and listen to all the other mothers talk about their first periods. All the while I am thinking, isn’t this what is usually referred to as “too much information?” Do I really want to have some mom’s My First Menstrual Period story in the back of my mind every time I see her, as I am sure some of you will think about white Dittos the next time you see me? Do we really need these visuals of one another? Will they ever go away?

“So, honey, what do you think? A lot of your friends will be going. If you don’t go, you might be one of the few girls who don’t go. But either way is fine with me,” I say in my most reassuring and motherly voice.
“It sounds weird to me,” she says, scrunching up her cute little face, “I don’t think I want to go.”
“Okay, sweetie. Are you sure? If you want to, I’ll go with you ...”
“No, mom. That’s okay. It sounds weird.”

Whew. Dodged that one. I look at my daughter lovingly as I feel the burden of this decision lifted off my shoulders. I think my daughter and I might create our own family tradition and sit down for tea and cupcakes -- and our copy of Ready, Set, Grow: A What’s Happening to My Body Book for Younger Girls -- in the privacy of our own home. Or maybe we’ll wait on that for a while. I’m sure we’ll figure out when the timing is right for her ... and me. With or without tea and cupcakes, I think we’ll be just fine.