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I planned afternoons of Shrinky Dinks and elaborate puppet shows.

Then, one evening, I walked in on my husband reading to my son in the nursery. But if that was the extreme, we were living proof of the theory. But my son got that glow in his eyes, that moon-faced look of connection. For more than a year, we let him act out his mythical tragedy.

Then, one day, not long after we had decided Oedipus was welcome in our home, that stories are instruction and meaning, a compass and not some kind of omen from a shadow world of literature, I sat with my son in his bed for a special time we call Pressing Questions, in which he is free to talk to us about anything and everything under the sun.

Every mother wants to be loved. but is it possible my boy loves me a little too much?

Everything I did, I overdid. Blood-curdling screams, the kind you might wish on telemarketers. Trending Articles from Salon. In classic Freudian psychology, the Oedipus complex rears itself between the ages of 3 and 6. Make yourself less lovable? Sticky Header Night Mode. Sometimes my husband would play along, giving our son a longed-for moment of control. And he was. Deep, pleasurable, suffocating love.

Every mother wants to be loved. but is it possible my boy loves me a little too much?

How attached were we? Before long, my son had moved from swift pecks on my cheek to tongue flying at my face from the other side of the couch.

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He had passed through it. It was working. This was not the approach we took.

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The kind of love that sometimes sends you to the bathtub with your headphones on. Threats of profound developmental shame are lost on a 3-year-old. But the railing against his father was getting worse every day. My husband was equally devoted, if perhaps not quite so intent on receiving something in return.

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Emily Grosvenor is a magazine writer and essayist living in McMinnville, Ore. You can follower her at emilygrosvenor. I was crafting the greatest hearts-and-minds campaign of my life.

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I was loved beyond measure. Say what you will about debunked Freudian hypotheses. Related Articles. Clearly I could win anyone over with a little effort, a concerted approach, and whole lot of Goldfish crackers. We snuggled into our bliss until my son came back. Tension every time my husband walked in the room. Do you scale back how much time you spend with your children and start going on as many dates as possible to show who has that part of your heart? Do you try to love less? My husband took it in stride, but I saw it on his face — deep sadness and the feeling that he was unwelcome in his own home.

I made four-layer baked oatmeal on the weekends. With my first son, I was one of those mothers who was all-in, and my son knew it.

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Is it so wrong to want your son to love you? In a word, yes.

Clearly he thought that since he had been putting in the time, he deserved the prize. He had never given up trying to forge a relationship with his son.

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My son wanted to marry me. We let him be this hero, even though this one was one doomed to fall. The second he stepped into the room, my son would bristle. Had I perhaps been trying too hard?

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My son jumped out of bed to go get another book, and as he scampered out of the room, I jumped gleefully in bed with my husband. It had taken my husband three years to ask me to marry him.

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But sometimes a kid just has to do what dad says, so Adam took to combating the tiny tyrannical outbursts by enveloping our son in love. By my calculations we were right on schedule. We let him love me, we let him try to destroy his father, and all we did was love him back.

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It took my son three years, too. Do you pull back? I read to him constantly, easily 25 books a day. For months thereafter, they battled for position of man in the house. Wait until he asks you to marry him! Given an invitation to interact with his father, he wanted nothing more than to boss him around. It was the like being ambushed by a tiny slug. Very few people who have heard of the Oedipus complex believe that sons actually want to sleep with their mothers. But was this correct? I went from my natural baseline of being a champion snuggler to an Olympian of the sport, always training, always nearing the peak of my form.

I practiced attachment parenting.

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My son screamed every time he was out of my arms. In an instant, my son flew into a rage.

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