Good Girls Go Bad

20 months.

My precocious little girl is a week away from being alive only 20 months. We had what I thought was a fairly generous arrangement. I provided her with love, protection, shelter, diaper changes, and a constantly full snack cup. In return, she allowed me to laugh at her wobbly balance and invade her personal space at will for kisses.

Throughout these unwritten (she can't write yet people) rules we've had, one has always been constant; I'm the only man in her life. Her grandpas can lay a small claim of her heart, but let's get real, I'm the Mayor of Masculinity in her world.

At least I thought so. Until two days ago my wife hit me with news that gave me a heart attack inducing pause.

Megan. My daughter. The not even 20 month old, never even had a haircut yet, can't even look at a stranger without getting shy ....

... had met a boy.

(If like me, your knees buckled on reading that sentence and the oxygen in the room seemed to be vanishing, go ahead and take a minute. I'm going to.)

Here's what I was told (with potential embellishment on my part). Jillian dropped Megan off at daycare like it was any other day. This being a Monday she had some normal daycare items in her hands and needed to stay a bit longer to stuff them in her cubby and chat harmlessly with Megan's teacher. While in conversation with Miss Tami, Jillan watched as this tow-headed, pint-sized casanova sauntered over to my daughter and leered at her.

That's right, leered. Jillian didn't say as much, but I know his type.

He probably came over with a ruse about wanting to play trucks with her or to invite her to join him on the playmats. Of course I haven't had a chance to warn Megan about guys like this. You always think, "When I'm a parent ..." Well, I'm a parent and I didn't warn my baby about this, this ... lothario of love. Where did I go wrong?!?!?

ANYWAY, after spouting some deceitful lies about his lego collection or knowing Thomas the Tank personally, he infiltrated her bubble. Her personal space that only I, her protector and provider, am allowed to invade. Or so I thought.

And that's when this little Romeo reached out his hand and she reached out to his, and they clasped together.

(Is the room spinning. Why is the room spinning! I need to lie down.)

Silently they strolled together, hand-in-hand, over to the carpet area to play.

And me? I have been in a constant state of delirium since then. I tried to play it cool and cracked jokes about his job prospects in this bleak economy, what his growth chart potential was, and whether he dressed nice.

But internally I'd be lying if a harmless little act, a simple gesture of friendship, hadn't floored me.

This is my daughter.

The same one that causes me dizziness when she kisses me goodnight. The same one that I crankily deride at 3 am when I have to pluck her from her crib and place in my bed. The same one I let kick me in the jaw as she gets comfortable.

When I became a parent I just never thought I would have moments like this so soon. I thought the hard parts came as she entered the much harsher worlds of middle school, and dear God, high school.

Last night at dinner I asked Megan if she kissed any boys. She answered with a response that provided me some solace, at least in the short term.

"NOOOOOO!"

What a magical, musical repose to my ears.