Sex, Motherhood and the Teenage Daughter

My oldest daughter turns 14 this year. I lost my virginity exactly one month after my 14th birthday. Guess who’s nervous. I don’t know about all mothers, but one of my greatest fears is that my children will repeat my mistakes. I led a very “lesson-filled” youth. And I’ve held on to those lessons so I can hopefully guide my daughters in such a way so that they will circumvent all the “tests” I had to go through. I realize that this is not up to me, but as I mentioned in my post last week, I have control issues, okay? So I’m working on it. I’m trying to learn to let go. I’m pretty much forced to let go. My firstborn lives in another state with her father and stepmother, and although I really get down about us not being together, I believe that the distance has strengthened our relationship. When I lived there, I was the hard-ass mom who was always pushing, always trying to control. Being away has forced me to relinquish some of that control and just guide. It has done wonders for our communication. We talk a lot, mostly about boys and school, but  in general, we talk about life, the type of person she wants to be, how to maintain her inner light when people around her are trying to dim it, and so on.

Now that she is “that age” I’ve really begun to think about how to talk to her about sex in a way that is age appropriate but not too explicit, which I am known to be sometimes – we were Skyping the other day and I told her I had to take a shit. Yeah, I’m that mom. We’ve always talked about sex, probably since she was around 5 or 6, but now is the time to really get down to business. I’ve decided to be as open and honest as possible about the issue. I’m a very sexual woman, so I can’t/won’t lie and say that sex is bad and gross and doesn’t feel good. Although I’m very much a believer in waiting until the time is right, and the person is right (I’m going through my own sex sabbatical now, but that’s another post for another day), I won’t spout the “no sex till marriage” thing, because it’s not something I believe in, and frankly, it doesn’t work. I won’t hide my past from her, or try to lead her to believe I was a saint until I met her father and then again until the birth of her baby sister (who has a different father, so that whole “saint” thing really wouldn’t work).

I had no one to discuss sex with when I was a teenager. No one except my friends who were just as clueless and hormonal as I was (remember that phrase, “young, dumb and full of cum”? yeah). So here I am, trying to be the parent I wish I’d had, without dumping my own personal issues on my kid. Will it work? Who knows? My three rules/hopes/mantras for my girls: Be your own woman, don’t get pregnant (preferably ever, or at least until after 30), and travel the world. If one of them turns out to be a lesbian (I see hints of it in the baby), I’ll be even happier, but sticking to these three goals – it just helps me sleep. Don’t judge me.

How do you raise a young black woman to take sexual ownership, responsibility and pride in her body, in her womanhood, in a world where women’s bodies, minds and spirits are constantly attacked and devalued? It seems as if all the things I’ve read from Audre Lorde, Patricia Hill Collins, and bell hooks have completely left me. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m freaking the hell out. But I am determined to be an open source of information, reference, guidance, and understanding. I’ve let her know that the door is always open and I’m always willing to talk and share, and what I don’t know we’ll find out together. And maybe I’ll revisit some of that bell hooks with her. I guess that’s all I can really do….

The Mom Factor

During my pregnancy with Bean I went through a period of high anxiety. “Oh my GOD, what have I done?! I can’t believe I’m pregnant! Am I ready to do this all over again? I’m not that great of a mom to Chicken and now I gotta prove myself to TWO?! I shouldn’t have had that third drink. God, I’m already broke enough as it is!!!” and so on and so on. The really scary thing was that I thought I was the only one who went through these periods of extreme anxiety and self doubt.

Thankfully, I found a group of preggo mamas on http://www.babycenter.com and I found out that I wasn’t alone. I suppose that because of our anonymity, we were more open and honest with one another about our feelings. More honest and open than we would ever dare to be around our closest friends and family. It seemed like every mom in the June 2009 Birth Club went through periods where she was literally losing her shit. This was most common with preggos who already had a child. We already have firsthand knowledge of how rough motherhood can be, yet we get – okay put – ourselves in situations to do it all over again, like some psychopaths. Sleepless nights? Yes please! Feeling unappreciated and often unloved? Oooh, that sounds yummy! Having your name forever changed from that oh-so-unique name your hippie/ghetto/drunk parents gave you to “Mom”? YES – give it to me NOW!!! By the way, I can totally understand why some parents let their kids call them by their name. Mom is so common, so bland, and so often emotionless when spoken. But guess what my kids call me? Yeah, anyway…

But we do it again. And for some, again, and again, and again. And it’s not like we don’t have options. Condoms are free. Sometimes the pill is too. All kinds of preventable methods exist. And if those don’t work, there are other options. You know what I’m talking about. Okay, I won’t say it, I’ll just say it rhymes with shmasmortion. And you know what? I’ll be honest with you all; I considered it. Hell, I even made an appointment. I am a firm believer in a woman’s right to choose what goes on, inside, through and to her body. But I couldn’t do it. I got all the way up there, fought my way through the “Save the zygote” Jesus preaching Pro-Lifers/Anti-Choicers and made it inside the front doors, but couldn’t even put my name on the check-in list. So I cried all the way home, still pregnant.

Over the next 7 ½ months I went through ups and downs, excited then scared. Euphoric then nihilistic. So in an attempt to boost my spirits, I reached out to my friends, to get some motivation, to help myself understand why I decided to become a parent again. I got some interesting answers, as varied as the crazy-ass people I consider my friends. But one thing that I noticed was a common theme of learning. As a parent you are taught SO much, especially about yourself. Some parents choose not to listen or look at what their children are (indirectly) showing them, but there are so many learning opportunities we parents receive. And I think that one of the most important things we learn is unselfishness and selflessness. They are not the same thing. Some people have one or the other, or both and one is greater than the other in that individual. Personally speaking, I am one of the most selfish people I know. I will give a homeless man the last dollar in my pocket, but I hate to share my ice cream, and I love to go shopping, just for me. But I can’t – at least not without an immense feeling of guilt. I must shop for my children as well as myself and that includes groceries. I haven’t yet conquered it, but I’m forced to work on it constantly. So I know I haven’t quite reached selflessness.

And when I say selflessness I don’t mean completely losing your identity and independence to your role as a parent. I mean understanding that you are part of a bigger picture. It’s about more than you. You are not Beyoncé and the rest of the world is Kelly and Michelle. It’s bigger than you will ever be able to conceive, and you base your actions on that. Now, you don’t have to be a parent to grasp this reality. There are millions of people who “get it” and have never and will never bring a child into this world or raise one. Hell, I think more people should go that route. But for some of us, maybe it’s the only way we can get it. Through our struggle to be the best parents we can be; we try our best to keep one more kid off the stripper pole or the streets or keep their visits to the therapist to a minimum when they are older. Through this we change ourselves, and we help change the world. And not everyone will get it. There are some obvious examples of bad parenting everywhere you look. But for every Wacka Flacka there is a Talib Kweli. For every Santorum there’s a John Brown (Google him). For every Nicky Minaj, there’s a Michelle Obama.

So when I go through my panic modes – and yes, I still do sometimes – I remind myself that it’s all part of the plan, the bigger picture. I must do my part in making an impact on the world. And that may or may not be made manifest in my children. All my phenomenal, Claire Huxtable-esque, mistake-free parenting may backfire. I may say or do one thing that clicks something in one or both of them that changes the whole game. God forbid, but this is a very possible reality. But something that I say or do will have a positive effect on someone, whether great or minor, and it will lead them to do the same to and for another and so on and so on. And it will be without a doubt, a result of my learning process as a parent.

So when I’m going toe-to-toe with my 2 year old drama queen who is shedding huge rainforest storm sized tears because  she cant wear her sandals in the middle of winter, or my 13 year old pitches a new-teen fit because I won’t let her spend her entire day playing Tomb of Death or whatever massacre video game her dad bought her, or I’m just dog-fucking tired and it’s only 5pm and I swear I’m one breath away from the nuthouse, I remember the big picture, visualize my weekend, check for my red wine stash and I push through.