Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I googled puberty...

today. Even just typing the word takes me back to 7th grade health class when the teacher said, "Poo-burr-tee". The boys all snickered and the girls looked disgusted. At least I did.

My mom is a nurse. Starting around the 2nd grade I got the "talk" every summer around my birthday. Like clockwork. I always had access to the latest information on "poo-burr-tee" and its effects (or consequences). I was a virtual clearinghouse of information for my friends.

By the time 7th grade came around, I really had heard it all and I fluctuated between embarrassed and disgusted that this topic was being discussed in mixed company and not on my white canopy bed where I could feign indifference, acceptance and understanding so the talking would stop.

Don't misunderstand me. Later, after my own "poo-burr-tee" and maturity, I greatly appreciated all of Mom's information. Especially when I talked with a friend the day prior to her wedding and she had no idea what would *really happen within 24 hours.

Anyway, being personally past all that--thank goodness--I had to google puberty today because while fixing a shirt for my oldest son, I noticed something on his arm. About the time I was reaching over to yank it off, I realized that it was attached. Firmly. To his underarm. And there was more of it around that first one.

Eeeek. That was NOT there at the beginning of the summer. Or after Boy Scouts Camp. Although right after camp I might have suspected fungus.

Lord, please have mercy on this mama. I don't know if I'm ready. So, I'm reading up, again, on the information. Husband will have the "talk" again. Initial groundwork has been laid the past three years, age appropriately.

And so it begins. I feel queasy.


  1. Yea, I feel queasy for you.

    You're gonna hold my hand (internetively speaking) through this some day, right?

  2. Ugh, I had to start talking to my daughter about pooburrtee this summer. This isn't the first time we've talked, but I'm having to go into more detail now. Whew, boy! Just yesterday I noticed the underarm hair. And I'm a little scared. Can daughter's smell fear?

  3. Yikes I feel queasy for you too. I'm not ready. I'm not ready over here. Oh the horror of hair in the "underpit" as they are known at our house.

    Thank goodness you have boys and can shuff some of this off on husband. :)

  4. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Let's just say the queasiness? Totally justified.

    Sorry for being Miss Merry Sunshine...

    I hate puberty. I'd gladly go back to 4 kids under 7, thankyouverymuch.