As a fifth grader at Holley Elementary School, every student, male and female, is forced to watch a movie about “coming of age.” So, there we sat---a room full of females, forced to watch a movie about how fantastic womanhood and sexuality would one day be for us. I can remember one rather odd scene in great detail: A mother and daughter begin to make pancakes for breakfast. The mother, knowing her child is a visual learner, creates a “pancake” in the form of a woman’s uterus. She then begins to explain to the girl menstruation-and uses her masterpiece as a guide. What the rest of the movie developed into is a blur-a memory of how I was introduced to womanhood, and a sudden distaste for pancakes. 

It wouldn’t be until about three years later, at the tender age of thirteen that I would get my “friend.” At that age, I was awkward and uncomfortable with my body. I sported a short haircut, braces, and humbly accepted the nomination as vice president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Having girlfriends was a complete nightmare, boys started to become mean, and adolescence was taking its toll.

In a gauche attempt at making myself “cool,” I purchased a mini skirt. It was cream colored, with turquoise paisley print. It was quite possibly the only skirt, or item of clothing that went above my knees, found in my closet. I sat in English class staring at Mrs. Pilato’s ankles, thinking about how I would look at the age of fifty, in a mini skirt and ankle fat rolling over my shoes. As I sat there, I noticed that something about my body-specifically my abdomen, felt ill at ease and uncomfortable. After class I went into the bathroom to investigate the unfamiliar situation. On my underwear, there it was blood, blood that had come out of me! I thought to myself, “Oh, man, this is it? This is what the big deal is? This is what makes me a woman?  I’m bleeding and I have a feeling that my uterus is going to fall out?” I had never been happier to be in a skirt, however. Had I been wearing pants, the blood surly would have soaked through; thus creating quite the humiliating experience for me. My mother had sent me to school that year prepared with maxi pads, just in case. I went to my locker, got one out as discretely as possible, and went back to the bathroom. I held the gigantic, puffy pink package in my hands and began to feel almost excited and proud of the fact that I was now a woman. Then I placed the pad in place and all initial moments of excitement vanished. The pad felt like two pairs of rolled socks stuck in my panties-and I wondered if the bulge could be seen through my tight, short skirt. The rest of the day, I sat in my blood, thoroughly self-conscious and completely repulsed by this completely new experience. 

After school, I walked down to the Middle School, where my mom worked. I met her in the hallway, and told her what had happened. I’m not really sure what reaction I was expecting, or hoping for, but the one I got made me uncomfortable. My mother smiled, and congratulated me. I feared she was going to go tell her co-workers the “good” news, or possibly rent an airplane with a trailing banner that read “My Daughter, Katie Hamm, Is a Woman!” What followed was a giant whirlwind of hugs, and talks about safe sex. At the age of thirteen, baby-making was the last thing on my mind. Menstruation had proved disgusting enough, and the thought of a human growing inside me made me squirm. 

The following few days would prove to be trying times. Maxi Pads were completely out of the question, and I wanted to use tampons. My mother explained to me how a tampon gets inserted, and so I tried, and tried, and tried. Now, when a young girl has never shoved anything up her vagina, a long plastic device is rather intimidating. How hard should I push? How far up do I go? Am I in the right hole? This went on for some time. I remember being in tears because the thought of having to sit in my blood repulsed me. One day, in a bout of pure frustration, I did it. I just shoved it on up there, and the deed was done. A beautiful lifetime relationship with Kotex had begun.

That is how I recall becoming a woman. A mix of emotions, and uncomfortable events, that has left me looking forward to menopause. Oddly enough, the whole event never once made me think of pancakes. 

---Katie