I’m sure there are some things Out There more horrifying than witnessing my daughter’s very first Boy Band crush.
I just can’t think of any right now.
She pulls up her playlist on my iPad, scrolls to One Direction, and stares at the cover of their record (album? shut up I’m not old) while hitting play over and over and over again.
Mind you, there are worse things she could be listening to. It’s not like she’s Dropping It Like It’s Hot and slinging F-bombs around preschool.
Or I’m not trying to explain to her that LMFAO means “laugh” but the guys in the band spelled it wrong because they didn’t pay attention in school and stop wiggling your hips like that young lady!
I simply didn’t think my brain would tread this terrain yet. For goodness sake, she’s only 5 years old.
The other day, Husband asked me When did you get your boobs? The answer: 10. I got my period and my boobs the year I hit double digits. Awesome. So now I’m thinking that I’m a quick 5 years away from chasing boys away from my gorgeous pubescent daughter.
I spent a couple days shaking that thought out of my head, and of course catch her checking out her make-up in a mirror for about 15 minutes straight while waiting for her dance recital to begin.
God. Help. Me.
I know she can’t drive yet and doesn’t go to school full days yet and knows exactly how to push me to the brink of sanity, but at least she’s a breastless, boyfriendless, innocent kid right now who doesn’t know how gorgeous she is or have to deal with anyone else noticing, either. At least her first Boy Band crush is something made of pure, sweet, wide-eyed youthful joy, not the confused emotions of a pubescent girl.
I guess I’ll take it. One Direction takeover of my home and all.
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