He asks, “How much do you love me?”
“Like infinite times! That’s a lot!” I answer back as I stare back at him from the rear view mirror. And I say this as I think to myself about my voyeuristic tendencies.
“I love you like…one thousand, eighty-nine, five hundred twenty-eight, hundred thousand, two. Is that like a billion, momma?”
“Yes definitely and maybe more son.”
“And infinite. I love you that much and that’s a lot!” He exclaims big eyed and serious. “Momma I wish I was an adult so I can marry you.”
“Yeah but Mommas and Sons don’t marry. The bond we have is way different and way stronger.”
And all this time I wonder if I first majored in psychology as a way to get myself ready to handle these parenting situations correctly. I have internal dialogues with Freud on the regular even though sometimes these hashings turn into debates.
And I want my son to know everything I know- no lies, misgivings, and bending the truths. I love bending rules just enough to stay within the boundaries of being clipped by rubber, but not when guiding the future ones. Be honest, and they’ll be honest. Be moral, and they’ll be moral. Respect, and they’ll respect. Fear not, create lots, and they’ll grow up holding satchels of hope in vibrant colored knapsacks.


4 thoughts on “Freud and I

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