Here comes the bride, my ass!

My daughter has a boyfriend. I am conflicted about this on so many levels. While I don't want my daughter to be the girl in high school that has to go with her cousin because no one else asked her to prom, I’m horrified that my four-year old is rushing into a committed relationship so early in life

This issue first raised its ugly head about two weeks ago when she asked if I would put her hair in a ponytail for school. Hair has become a big issue in her life now that she has managed to grow it out long enough to meet with her satisfaction, so I thought nothing of it. Until she followed her request with, “Sam said he wants to see my hair in a ponytail.” I expected to reach this ground by twelve, so my surroundings were suddenly quite unfamiliar.

“Sam? Who’s Sam?”

“He’s my boyfriend. Today we pretended we were married and he brought me flowers.”

Wow. I have one child, and I am the friend in my group with the oldest child, so really, there weren’t too many places to turn here. I accepted that this was probably something that happens in preschool all of the time, and the next day, I put her hair in a ponytail. She trotted off to school and returned that evening with a big smile on her face.

“Sam likes my hair in a ponytail.”

"Oh. Um, okay, but do you like your hair in a ponytail?"

"Sure, Mom, because Sam likes it that way."

I was obviously getting in over my head so when she insisted on having a ponytail the next day, I thought it was time to sit her down and talk.

“So, tell me about Sam.”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“Yes, I know, but tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s Taylor’s boyfriend as well.”

Was it too early to have the “All men are dogs” conversation? I was tempted, but before I could pull out my wise-mother demeanor, she continued.

“Sam kissed me yesterday on the playground, and now Taylor has to be our daughter.” Picture me crumpled on the floor here, trying to shut out the world for at least a minute while I figured out how to proceed. I sat up, swaying dizzily, momentarily confused by the light.

“Okay, first of all, no one should be kissing you at school.”

“Why?”

Why…why…why? Because you’re four. Because I’m too young to be ready to deal with the issue of boyfriends. Because I don’t have a boyfriend, and until you’re in middle school, I think my having a boyfriend first should be the requirement. “Because kissing can spread germs. It’s cold and flu season. You don’t want to get sick, do you?” This reason should hold me until at least summer, but I was beginning to feel a lot more sympathy for my mother and all of the bad advice she gave. “Second of all, why don’t you guys play something else? What about that monster game you always used to play?”

“Mom, that was Riley, and he doesn’t play monsters anymore. He and Emma play together now, and Jenna is their daughter.” Apparently miniature love is in full bloom at my daughter’s school. Where exactly were the teachers?

This Sam sounded like a bad character to me. I pictured a leather-jacket wearing, candy cigarette eating, hair slicked back, four-year old gigolo.

But yesterday, I met Sam, and Sam’s mother. Sam is shorter than my daughter, with brown cowlicky hair and a big grin. He was wearing jeans, a striped shirt, and Bob the Builder sneakers. When he saw my daughter was leaving, he ran to give her a big hug.

“Niney!” he shouted.

“Sammy,” she answered back.

“No kissing,” his mother barked, and while we didn’t smile at each other, we shook our heads in commiseration, both of us lost in the thick confusing soup of motherhood. Sam followed us out the door, and stood on the sidewalk to wave goodbye to my daughter as I pulled out of the parking lot.

I have decided that this is a phase. I am hoping that this is a phase. My parents didn’t have to deal with boyfriends until middle school; I’m kind of hoping that this may be something that is determined by genetics. There was a time when I was concerned because my daughter insisted on wearing dresses every single day, and never wanted to play outside because she would get dirty. I worried that maybe taking her camping this summer would not be the greatest idea, but once at the campsite, she ended each day filthy, falling down twice and scraping both of her knees under her very dirt and soot-worn shorts. The prima donna thing was obviously a phase; let’s hope this one is too. Because I’ll be damned if I’m helping her pick out china patterns this early in life.