Imagination Inflation

Apparently congratulations are in order. I found out the other day that I have a daughter I never knew existed. (I'm thinking a paternity test is in order.) Her name is Logan, but I'm not sure how old the little darling is. Such an odd feeling finding out about a child you don't remember birthing.... So surreal!

Of course, the lost memories could be due to the fact that Logan is an imaginary child, so I've never actually seen her. But Ruby Jane and LM insist she's there, and since they're much too old to be inventing fake imaginary friends, I have no other choice but to believe that Logan is a real imaginary friend. (Look at me creating new oxymorons!)

Okay, let's just be honest here. It's a big pain in the patooshky to go along with this ruse. Ruby insists that I feed Logan, take her to school, make room for her on the couch.... Sheesh! I try. I really do! But every time I set out a plate of imaginary food for the child, Ruby gives me the "Mom, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better than that! Get real food" look. I get accused of not taking it seriously. Oh, it's serious alright! Seriously messed up! I mean, when you're putting your own imaginary daughter into a time-out for hitting your un-imaginary son, you begin to wonder whether an intervention might be in order. (Maybe there's a good imaginary psychiatrist I could see. Anyone have any recommendations? I need an affordable rate since I don't have any imaginary mental health insurance.)

The bright side is that this fun little game can't last much longer. Right? If I'm wrong, then I'm thinking I will have to be on the lookout for some imaginary adoptive parents. I know a nice couple. He's a neurosurgeon and she's a rocket scientist. They live in a castle. I think Logan would be very happy there.