Thursday 31 October 2013


The King has entered into his Casanova stage, as I like to call it. Every mother of a son can attest to the fact that the mother-son relationship is altogether unique (as of course is the mother daughter relationship). I will even go as far as to say that there is a certain romance to it, a beautiful (mutual) adoration that is unparalleled by anything else. Let's face it, at the moment, I am the apple of the King's eye, and I am profoundly grateful to be in this position.

From a psychological standpoint, the King is clearly working out the power of his charms and is connecting with his emotions – or at least trying to decipher what they're all about. And obviously, as I’m his mother, I’m the first (and greatest, damn it!) female in his life in which to workout all these feelings (I’m of course lobbying hard for the diminutive brunettes of the world to be the superior female specimen in his eyes). At the moment, the King is all about kissing me profusely and telling me how much he loves me. This can happen at any time of day or night (although at bed time post book reading I receive a ton of attention which I of course milk for all its worth) and at times is pretty random; he can have his mouth full of food and be stuck under a pillow (as you do) and he’ll warble out the he loves me as if it's the most perfectly normal moment to utter it.

He is also keenly aware that this expression has a certain power to it. If I’m mad at him or he wants something from me, he whips the ‘I love you’ phrase out like a party trick. Of course this usually renders me putty in his hands, or it at least softens me a bit depending on the crime that has been committed (his latest offence to the wall with his space shuttle took a lot of 'I love yous' I can assure you). He also likes to check in with how everyone in the room is feeling at any given time. ‘Are you happy, Mama?’ ‘Am I happy mamma?’ ‘Daddy’s happy, that bus driver happy, mama?’...Okay noted, everyone is happy. I’m sensing that for any child, a collective rainbow of happiness across the world is much better than people feeling miserable. It's perfectly understandable.

As a woman, I must admit that the King’s connection to his emotions makes me incredibly happy (see, King; Mama is happy). I figure if he stays on the ‘love/feelings’ course, I am saving some future woman out there a ton of work when it comes to getting him to be demonstrative about his feelings. Obviously at the moment, this needs some tempering as I also don’t want him to have emotional tourrettes and walk around the streets hollering how happy or sad he is at any given moment. A woman wants a man to be open to his feelings, but she also loves a bit of mystery. It’s a fine line.

The other issue is that I know that I only have a handful of years left of being showered with adoration and praise. By the time the King hits 13, I may be hearing a totally different song that may go something like this: ‘Get out of my room, you’re such a dork, Mom; You don’t understand anything!’ Or the even worse alternative: nod, nod, grunt, shrug, eye roll.

So for now, I shall happily drink in the 500 times a day he tells me loves me, bat my eyelashes, and hope it lasts as long as possible. 

Happy Halloween!

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