I'm having a bad day

Today isn’t a “feeling happy” day.  Perhaps it is the weather, maybe it is some of the sites I’ve been reading on, I honestly don’t know.  But I’m really feeling that void today.  There is this space in my heart where “mom” and “dad” and “brothers” and  “sisters” belong.  More space reserved for “granparents.”  Even more for “aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews.”  And though Wraith will come along and give me the kick in the pants I asked for, I feel like I have to make excuses for this empty feeling.  Go back a few sentences.  See where I wrote, “But I’m really feeling that void today”?  Want to know what that said before I erased it?

I miss my mommy.

It doesn’t matter that I don’t know her name or what she looks like.  It doesn’t matter that I have no conscious memory of meeting her.  It doesn’t even matter if she is a serial killer sitting in a jail somewhere.  I am missing the mommy I deserved to have by virtue of being born. 

Men might want to skip the next paragraph and go on to the next.  Or maybe skip the whole post – there’s girlie stuff in these here parts.

I got my period last night.  Now, this is hardly worth mentioning, except if you realize that I’m in premature menopause and have been for several years.  My period are extremely erratic and extremely heavy.  I was very young when I started and will apparently be very young (relatively speaking, no pun intended) when I stop.  Where are the women I can look to and say, “Is this normal for us?”  My doctor tells me this is genetic.  Well ducky.  But that doesn’t help me any.  It doesn’t give me the bevy of women I deserve to be able to look to and say, “What comes after this?  How will my body cope?  What do the women in our family do?”

Once in a while, I actually get a pimple at this time.  Do you realize that no one, no one ever taught me how to treat them?  Everything I know about pimples I learned from the internet.  I’m serious.

Last year I noticed that the skin on my forehead right between my eyebrows has started drying out a bit.  It flakes.  I asked a lady at a cosmetic counter why it happens and what to do about it.  She tried to sell me $300 worth of face creams and soaps.  I wasn’t buying.  Where are the women who are supposed to be there to tell me how to make it stop?

I don’t wear makeup.  Well I do, a few times a year.  My makeup collection consists of some eye liner, mascara and blush.  Oh, and a lip gloss and weird contraption which supposedly curls your eyelashes(???).  Don’t ask, I got told I needed one.  Do you know that no one ever taught me how to apply makeup?  I know there is something called foundation which is apparently how women get that nice even skin tone, but do I know how to choose it or how to put it on?  Nope, not a clue.  Where are the women who are supposed to be there to teach me how to put this stuff on?

 

Who is going to teach me to really take care of this mane of red hair I’ve been blessed with?  Do other women really use trial and error, switching shampoo and hair products every few months trying to find something that makes their hair look nice and smooth and sleek like everyone else’s hair seems to be?  Where are the women who are supposed to say, “here is how you care for Native American textured hair”? 

 

What about taking care of my nails, hands and feet?  You really don’t want to know how I figured out how tampons work, seriously.  I think my adoptive mother assumed I would learn all this through osmosis or something.  I’ve no idea.  What I do know is that she never sat me down at any time in my life and said, “This is what you need to know about…”  How in the hell do other women figure this stuff out?  I mean, someone must teach them, right?  I do not believe I was the only woman ever born without this knowledge.

I don’t know, maybe she figured she would teach me when I was older.  Well, she had the opportunity up until I was around 27.  How much older did I need to be?  Maybe I just didn’t show her I cared enough about it, I don’t know.  But now, I’m almost 35 years old, just a few months from now, halfway through the average lifespan of an American woman.  Am I old enough now?

Where are the women to teach me about OUR skin issues, OUR hair issues, OUR menstrual issues, OUR health issues, OUR genetics?

They’re out there, somewhere.  I wish they were here with me. 

I have 5 or 6 older brothers and sisters.  The concept of having big sisters is both a mystery and thrilling to me.  Will they take me in and teach me, understanding that I don’t know all these things yet?  Will they help me learn?  Will my mother serve as a road map, tracing the path before us, showing us the hidden pitfalls and the awe-inspiring vistas that await us?  I hope so.

I miss my mommy.