As a mom to a competitive dancer, I’ve come to admire my daughter’s resilience and comfort in situations that I, even as an adult, find intimidating. She’s learned to change costumes in crowded dressing rooms, surrounded by other dancers, parents, and teachers. She’s learned the art of wearing rhinestoned outfits that leave little to the imagination.
Dance has taught her so much about confidence and poise—both in front of a mirror and on stage. But the other day, while she was warming up, I noticed something that made me realize we were entering a new phase. Just a hint of hair was growing under her arms, and it stopped me in my tracks. This meant puberty was on its way. I looked at her, only nine, and suddenly, I felt the tug of all the years that had flown by.
Nine years old feels impossibly young to me. I still see her as my little girl, fresh out of birthday celebrations, with a passion for dancing and a carefree spirit I would do anything to protect.
But life doesn’t wait for us to be ready. Puberty is its own force, arriving on its schedule, ready or not.
I’m tempted to hand her a strong cup of coffee to keep her a little longer, but I know that’s not how this works. This is just the start of all the changes I know will shape her into the young woman she’s becoming.
It’s funny—when I think back to my own “puberty talk” experience, it’s no wonder I’m so hesitant. Growing up, my mom and I didn’t have open conversations about body changes. It just wasn’t a thing. One day in second grade, I courageously asked her, “What’s a period?” She answered so vaguely that I somehow ended up believing that a period came out of your belly button. And I’m embarrassed to say I held onto that idea for years.
It wasn’t until fifth grade that I got the real information. Like many girls of my generation, I learned the facts in one of those well-meaning but cringe-inducing school assemblies. We were herded into the auditorium, where a video explained all the changes to come. In the video, the mom used pancake batter to illustrate female anatomy. She even made pancakes out of it afterward, which she and her daughter ate together as if it was a normal way to explain menstruation. I left that assembly feeling embarrassed, confused, and, frankly, a little traumatized.
It’s not just about puberty; it’s about breaking the cycle. I want my daughter to feel comfortable in her skin and know that the changes she’s experiencing are natural. I want to be a better resource for her than my mom could be for me, not out of blame but out of a desire to handle this better.
Over the years, I’ve done what I can to create an open atmosphere at home. We’ve always tried to be open and honest with our kids about their bodies and answered questions in an age-appropriate way. When the kids were younger, we got a book that broke things down in a kid-friendly language. My middle son practically wore out the book, laughing and reciting the anatomy terms like he was saying something naughty. He probably thought he was getting away with saying “bad words,” which, in his mind, made him an expert on the topic.
But somehow, this conversation with my daughter feels different. Maybe it’s because she’s my firstborn, or maybe it’s because I know how much more complicated it is to navigate this world as a girl. I remember being her age and feeling embarrassed and confused when I first noticed hair growing in new places. I want her to know that this is completely normal and that she has nothing to feel embarrassed about.
And as much as I want her to feel comfortable, I also know she’s growing up in a world that puts tremendous pressure on girls and women to look a certain way. Society doesn’t make it easy, with constant messages about shaving, waxing, and hiding hair that doesn’t fit a “clean” look.
I don’t want her to feel pressured to change her body to meet some impossible standard, yet I know the day will come when she’ll ask why so many people remove their body hair, and I’ll have to navigate that conversation with care.
So here we are. She’s beginning her journey into this new stage, and I’m trying to get comfortable guiding her through it. Puberty can feel like this mix of wonder and awkwardness, especially when discussing it with someone you love so much.
I know I’ll probably stumble over my words at times. But my goal is to be there for her, to make sure she knows she can ask me anything, and to help her feel confident and proud of the young woman she’s becoming. I’ll do my best to answer her questions and to create an environment where she feels secure enough to talk openly with me about whatever she’s going through. I want her to know that I’m her ally in this and that there’s nothing to be ashamed of.
It’s funny how parenting constantly throws these unexpected milestones at us, even as we try to catch up with the last one. Puberty may be barreling toward us, ready or not, but I’m determined to face it with as much grace and honesty as I can. And maybe, just maybe, this time around, we’ll skip the pancake batter.
