Among the many milestones that Boo achieved while I was busy feeding the baby this month: she now tells me she has a boyfriend.
Strictly speaking, it’s not my daughter in the relationship; she was being possessed by her imaginary friend Petey at the time. And since the boyfriend she named is also fictional, I shouldn’t have much to worry about — except that she told me that she didn’t like her last boyfriend anymore.
Her last boyfriend? How many others have there been? Maybe I need to start spying on her e-mail.
I swear, Boo’s getting this stuff from some astral source, because I can’t think of the last time the word “boyfriend” was even used in our house. (In my presence, anyway.) We don’t know many teenagers, Boo doesn’t watch adult TV, and her subscription to CosmoGirl ran out months ago. Whence, then, the precocious romantic sense?
However she’s getting the story, it has come through incompletely; at the same time she boasts of boyfriends, she hates the thought of marrying one. She usually tells me that she plans to marry Emmeline, Emily, Isabella, her sister, and a couple other friends. And, at least once, Barack Obama. And they’ll all be married at the same time.
I don’t know if it’s Boo’s aging or my distraction, but somehow, I’m a lot less in tune with the inner workings of my daughter’s mind than I once was. And if that’s the case when she’s only 3, what can I expect when she’s 12?
No wonder teenagers think their parents are oblivious: my mental oblivion has already taken hold.