In the last 15 years, my son has grown into such a respectable young man. He goes to church every Sunday, gets straight A’s at his prep school, and is the captain of his lacrosse team. Not to pat myself on the back, but I did a phenomenal job raising him into the person he is today. Half of his DNA is mine, so it’s no surprise that he’s so perfect.
If any of you have a child, you know what it’s like to love them so much that it hurts. Our children are the culmination of every effort we’ve ever made. My fundamental issue is that I think I love my son too much. So much that I often get the urge to kiss him passionately on the mouth. Is that so wrong?
He’s the spitting image of his father, so he’s tall, dark, and handsome as fuck. Is it wrong to say that? What, was I supposed to not notice? He and I have known each other for a long time (and also we’re related) so things could get complicated if things ever escalated between us. Ew! But, I love him so much that sometimes I want to lick his perfect face. It’s the kind of love that you feel when you see yourself in male form. You know? Like you’re walking in your parlor room and you catch a glimpse of yourself in your antique mirror, looking incredible in that new Dior lip stain. Don’t you just want to stop and kiss yourself?
Well, when I see my son, I see myself—the part of myself that’s far more likely to be the president of the United States. And so, yes, I want to kiss the president on the mouth. But that’s not wrong. If anything, it’s a sign that I am a damn good mother.
I told this to my neighbor, Jenny, and that nosy old bat called child services on me. I should have clarified with her: I haven’t kissed my son on the mouth because that would be horrific and wrong. He’s my son, for God’s sake. I just really, really, REALLY wish I could. I’d take a family vacation to Appalachia where there is less judgment on the matter, just to see how it felt. Until then, I dream of the day when he makes the first move.
