Thursday, 7 PM. Pajamas on, teeth brushed (more or less), and it’s that sacred time of day: bedtime. The moment when little feet finally settle, eyes get heavy… and suddenly, a journalistic fire ignites in the heart of a 5-year-old.
Tonight, I was under a very serious investigation—courtesy of Miss J., my daughter, age 5 years and 8 months, full-time truth-seeker and part-time philosopher.
Miss J.: “Mom, how did you meet papa?”
Me: “Aaaa… what?”
(Brain: buffering. Mouth: unsure. Heart: already melting.)
Miss J.: “Did he have glasses when you found him?”
(“Found him?” I’m giggling inside. My love life suddenly feels like Finding Nemo.)
Me: “Yes, he had glasses. When I found him—uh, when I met him—he was already wearing glasses.”
Miss J.: “Was he skinny then?”
Me: “Well… he was a bit skinnier than now.”
Miss J.: “Now, papa’s a bit fatty, isn’t he? I can see he’s a bit fatty.”
(Mental note: never ask a 5-year-old for fashion advice.)
Me (choking back laughter): “I don’t think papa is fatty, love.”
Miss J.: “But was he handsome then?”
Me: “Of course he was handsome! That’s why I married him. He’s still handsome. Don’t you think so?”
Miss J. (thoughtfully): “Dragoș is handsome too. But I’m not sure I’ll marry him.”
(Dragoș, her kindergarten classmate and part-time fiancé. Things are complicated.)
Me: “Would you like to have a husband like Papa?”
Miss J.: “I don’t wanna have a husband. Husbands smoke.”
(Excuse me, what now?)
Me: “What do you mean, husbands smoke? Papa doesn’t smoke.”
Miss J. (lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper): “Wanna know a secret? When Moșu’ comes to visit grandpa, he smokes like the back of a bad car… and papa smokes then too.”
(Plot twist. Drama. Tiny family espionage.)
Me: “I see… So, do you think Papa is handsome?”
Miss J. (with the solemn honesty only a child can deliver):
“Well… he’s ALMOST as handsome as Dragoș.”
(Close second. Sorry, papa.)
Conclusions from tonight’s bedtime interrogation:
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My love life sounds like a Pixar movie.
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may need to clarify that husbands don’t come with a smoking starter pack.
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You really never forget your first love (especially when he’s sitting next to you at circle time).
Life with Miss J.? Equal parts comedy, confession, and heart-bursting joy. I’ll take this kind of bedtime chaos over silence any day.