Okay, hold on to your hats. I don't expect this news to be as earth-shattering for the rest of you as it was (still is) to me, but...
Yes, that's a much-doted-upon three-year-old named Arlo. And his mom's name is Jen. And there is a video here of that Arlo lip-synching and dancing to Queen's "We Will Rock You." And it's...
I didn't go looking for this. I did not--I repeat--DID NOT Google "Arlo" and "Jen" to see if there were other pairings out there like me and my boy. I was reading Mighty Girl's blog, and there was this post pointing to Arlo's "We Will Rock You" video. It's also linked on Dooce's blog--which is about the Best Blog of All Time.
I'm alarmed. And I have to tell you, I'm feeling a little bit threatened right now. I'm having a tiny little freak out, a wee identity crisis. Granted, the Other Jen and Arlo live far, far away (Providence, RI) and--thank Gawd--the daddy's name is NOT Ted (it's Jeff) , but all of a sudden I'm feeling a little less unique.
And okay. Here it comes. I feel like the other Jen-and-Arlo are doing the Jen-and-Arlo bit a little cooler than I am. I don't blame my Arlo for this-- obviously, I think he's gotta be ten times the kid that Other Arlo is, but now I feel like I'm just not promoting Arlo well enough. Arlo doesn't have an Uncle Liam, after all, and no relatives who are professional-grade video producers. Plus, he's two and this Other Arlo is three, so there's that.
Maybe she doesn't work full-time outside the home. Maybe she's some kind of professional blogger, and therefore has all kinds of time to take pictures and videos of her dear boy and design her very own web site and have a very hip short-banged-bob haircut. She probably drives a VW Beetle.
How am I going to keep up?
Should I e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org? What in the world would I say?
Do I need to just get over it? Because right now I am completely preoccupied with my Other, and her boy Arlo. It's like the song "Ana Ng" by They Might Be Giants--talking about a twin you have on the opposite side of the earth ("water spirals the wrong way down the drain...") and what it's like to meet them. Or The Secret Sharer, by Joseph Conrad. Only she's in Rhode Island.
Forgive my stream of consciousness. I'm reeling. Who has problems like this? Only me, I tell you.