Of apples falling from trees.

On the way to school this morning, Ella was rambling about the things that butterflies might eat.  Which involved the words “poop” and “oranges”.  Out of the blue she says,

“Mommy, have you ever kissed a boy?”

Whiplash.  Yes.  Yes I have.

“You kissed Daddy, right?  You kissed him because he was your husband?”

That’s right.

“I haven’t never kissed a boy.  I haven’t caught them yet.”

Well, maybe you shouldn’t kiss the boys right now.  I don’t think that they like it.  You need to be older.

“Like Maddie’s age?”  (My friend’s daughter who is newly 11)

Uh, more like Sarah’s age. (19)

 

Since when does my almost 5 year old think about kissing boys?  And how am I supposed to respond?  I know it’s a game (potentially a May Day game) at this age.  The chasing and the catching and the kissing.  I know that 80 percent of what she does is for the express purpose of getting a rise out of others.  And kissing a fellow 5 year old would certainly cause alarm among the preschool set.

Leave it to my kid to be just like me.  Boys?  Don’t like being chased and they don’t like being kissed when they least expect it.  A girl could get thrown to the floor by a 14 year old wrestler just for attempting.  Ask me how I know.  (I was also 14 at the time so nothing yucky going on here.) 

I am the first to admit that I have unhealthy obsessions.  Thoughts that don’t quit.  Moves to make.  Boys to kiss.  Steaks to grill.  And that would be an actual steak and not something pervy.  Things I can’t afford.  People I want to find again; people to never see.  Not ever. 

It would seem that I have passed this trait on to my daughter.  For better or for worse.

Or, maybe I’m overthinking it and I should just smile and move on.

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