When Your Daughter Says The Word "Cum"

Yeah.  She said it.

During dinner tonight, Wednesday March 27, 2019.   She's going to be 12 in a week and tonight was the absolute end of everything.

I just witnessed it with my own eyes, like a flashing neon sign so big you can see it from the highway.  The moment when your youngest child turns that corner and puts innocence in her rear view mirror.

My baby.

Said "cum".

Out loud.

We were watching South Park (yes I know, I am responsible for this, I know) and Butters had been saving all his.....anyway, she said it, and I had to leave the room to ride that wave of what-the-fuck outside with a cigarette to calm me down.  In my quiet stupor, thoughts raced through my head without filter...

I couldn't figure out why it freaked me out so bad, its just a word.  I don't really like the word to begin with, but what would I rather have her say (besides nothing)?  Semen? Ejaculate? Jizz?  Ew. None of these are good choices.

How cruel is this?  This shocking revelation that my youngest was officially growing up, is happening right on the heels of my uterus being torn from my body.  Don't get me wrong, I was super excited to send that bitch packing, and I did not get overly emotional about it.  But in this moment, I realized there would be no more babies.  My current baby was gone, and I would not be having any more in the future.

Did I just witness the precise moment that she shifted from a child to an adolescent?  I revisited previous musings to myself about the last tampon that I used prior to my hysterectomy.  I had waxed poetic about how we rarely know when we do something or experience something for the last time, until its long gone and we simply never do it or see it again.  Like the last time you give your kid a bath, or the last time they let you brush their hair, or the last time you carry them.  At some point in the past, I picked up my kid and when I put her down, it was the last time I ever did that.  But I can't tell you when that was.  So many of these important "lasts" don't get the respect and attention they deserve.  So when I used what would be that last tampon, I looked at it and said "You are my last tampon. Ever."  Then I allowed myself to sit on that idea for a minute, have a quiet thought about the next chapter of my life, and threw it away.  I saved the box of leftover tampons to burn at my uterus retirement party I plan to have after I am feeling better.

I eventually recovered enough to come back inside.  My baby girl had stolen my spot on the couch and was all snuggled up with a blanket watching Chicago Fire.  I booted her to the other side of the couch and snuggled down to write this story.  Before I knew it, she was knocked out.  I looked over at her face and she was that innocent little girl again, so I let myself forget about what she said earlier and pumped the brakes on the whole growing-up thing.  Even if just for a moment.

Maybe we should get a puppy.