Recently, I said to my personal friends, "You know how it's possible to rub off a fingerprint due to overuse? Well, I am convinced that if [Zen Son] had a faceprint, I would've rubbed it off already due to kissing. I am an addict." I later posted a modified version on Twitter. People loved it. (I have yet to understand what people will go nuts over and what will fall flat.) I was just speaking one little tidbit of my truth.
The first thing I tell him when he wakes up next to me every morning, generally latched on, is, "Good morning, baby. I love you so much." And then we snuggle, breastfeed, laugh, talk about our dreams, gaze at and touch one another, and just take our sweet time enjoying one another and waking up.
Sometimes, I ask my son, "Do you know I love you?" His answer is always a resounding "Yes." Some people see this as less-than-humble or amusing in a Han Solo kind of way. I find it crucial to the kind of childhood I'm attempting to give him. I need my son to know unequivocally that I love him unconditionally. I need to know that he knows.
I didn't and don't know this about my parents. I have been told the words from time to time, but the stream of actions indicating otherwise are too plentiful and egregious. This is not something I can abide when it comes to my son.
So, I show him. And I tell him. And I show him and I tell him again and again and again in as many new and varied ways as I can and plan to continue doing so until I breathe my last breath. He needs to know. I need to know that he knows.