I found myself having a conversation with Nate this week that I realized is distinctly above my pay grade.
(Really, have you recently seen a more beautiful boy? But anyway.)
So we (read:he) were finishing up a trip to the potty recently, and Nate decided to tell me all about how he wishes his, um, boy parts were bigger. (I'm trying to spare you too many details as he'll read this someday, and I think it'd be nice if he still talks to me after.)
He said in such a wistful, contemplative tone, "Me wish me had peepee like Daddy. My peepee little." So of course, I do my best to reassure him that his parts are just the size they ought to be--you can imagine how that went. Wow, I'm thinking, does this sort of thing really start this early? Feelings of inadequacy and comparison?
Memories of Freudian theory from my Intro Psyc classes and scenes from Oedipus Rex flashed through my brain.
Great. So, now he's an adorable three year old. (See above photos.) But soon, according to theory and ancient Greek playwrights, he'll start overcompensating by driving cars too fast and then he'll be trying to kill his father to establish his own dominance in the family. Just great.
I don't have time to deal with patricide! I have laundry to do, people. I've got a sermon to preach tomorrow. Sheesh.