Joy. Confusion. Ecstasy and bewilderment.


Sometimes my son asks me what certain letter combinations spell: "Mommy, what's C-P-T-O-T-O-P-C-C?" I hate having to tell him it's not exactly a word, but an interesting group of letters.
Yesterday he asked me, "Mommy, what's P-O-P?" I told him it spelled "pop."

Without missing a beat, he grinned widely and replied, "That's what a bubble does!"

Lately he's taken to asking me, "Mommy, do you love me?" I always smile and tell him yes, I certainly do love him and I always will. The fact that he asks this question at all bothers me a tiny bit. I find myself wondering if he needs reassurance, or if he just likes being able to get a predictable response from me. I find myself wondering if I don't tell him enough that I love him, but the truth is that I tell him about 20 times a day -- usually more. Sometimes I try to notice what the emotional climate is when he asks me this. Am I tense? Are we having a difficult moment? Is it a lazy day? Is he bored?

Maybe it's nothing. But he's something.