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  • Writer's pictureJenny Wynter

Oh boy…it’s started.

So Ella has been kissing boys at school. Not one, not two, but THREE different suitors, mind you.

Now, my reactions to this are varied:

1. I can laugh at the fact she is just like I was at the same age. I clearly remember pashing my childhood sweetheart at preschool, then later getting into trouble…not for kissing, but for making him cry when I dumped him after a rather lewd ‘pulling up my skirt mid-snog’ incident. That’s justice for ya.

2. I can be happy that she feels she can be so honest with me about such things and celebrate for a moment, the wonderful trust that obviously exists and thus, the marvellous mother I must be for enabling such wonderful trust to exist.

3. I can freak out that she is five years old and is already becoming WAAAAAAY too popular – and enamoured with – the opposite sex for my liking. I mean, she’s kissed three boys in two days. If she continues at such a rate, she’ll wind up eight years old, living in a country town with thirty-three babes hanging off her. The sling alone would break her back. I can thus lament for a moment, the crapola sandwich I’ve led her into and thus, the horrible mother I must be for enabling such crapola filling to exist.

Ayayay! Any advice?

We wrapped up our heart-to-heart today with this:

Ella: “I want to marry Hubert*! I want to marry him!” (Note: name has been changed to protect the smoochee. Couldn’t I have picked something better than ‘Hubert’???)

Me: “Really? But what about Gabey?” (Her sweetheart-in-waiting back home in Oz).

Ella: “But Mum….he’s just my boyfriend!”

Welcome to the 21st Century, kiddo.

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