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Oedipal wedding night

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If someone is so determined to fulfill their dreams they often times do whatever it takes to do so, some people may even turn into a whole new person. Oedipus talks to the blind prophet, Teresias about the truth and he tells him the same thing that everyone else has been telling him all along, that his mother was his wife and the man he killed was Lauis and Lauis was his father.

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Wait until he asks you to marry him!

In classic Freudian psychology, the Oedipus complex rears itself between the ages of 3 and 6. By my calculations we were right on schedule. My son wanted to marry me. It had taken my husband three years to ask me to marry him.

Meaning of "oedipal" in the english dictionary

It took my son three years, too. Clearly I could win anyone over with a little effort, a concerted approach, and whole lot of Goldfish crackers. Had I perhaps been trying too hard? In a word, yes. With my first son, I was one of those mothers who was all-in, and my son knew it.

What is an oedipal wedding night?

I practiced attachment parenting. How attached were we? My son screamed every time he was out of my arms. Blood-curdling screams, the kind you might wish on telemarketers. Everything I did, I overdid.

I made four-layer baked oatmeal on the weekends. I planned afternoons of Shrinky Dinks and elaborate puppet shows. I read to him constantly, easily 25 books a day. 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 was crafting the greatest hearts-and-minds campaign of my life. Is it so wrong to want your son to love you? It was working. I was loved beyond measure. Deep, pleasurable, suffocating love.

The kind of love that sometimes sends you to the bathtub with your headphones on. My husband was equally devoted, if perhaps not quite so intent on receiving something in return. 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. It was the like being ambushed by a tiny slug. But was this correct? Threats of profound developmental shame are lost on a 3-year-old. Very few people who have heard of the Oedipus complex believe that sons actually want to sleep with their mothers.

But if that was the extreme, we were living proof of the theory. Say what you will about debunked Freudian hypotheses.

My son's oedipus complex

But the railing against his father was getting worse every day. The second he stepped into the room, my son would bristle. Given an invitation to interact with his father, he wanted nothing more than to boss him around. Sometimes my husband would play along, giving our son a longed-for moment of control. 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. Then, one evening, I walked in on my husband reading to my son in the nursery.

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. We snuggled into our bliss until my son came back. In an instant, my son flew into a rage.

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Clearly he thought that since he had been putting in the time, he deserved the prize. For months thereafter, they battled for position of man in the house. Tension every time my husband walked in the room. 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.

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And he was. He had never given up trying to forge a relationship with his son.

But my son got that glow in his eyes, that moon-faced look of connection. Do you pull back? Do you try to love less? Make yourself less lovable? 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?

This was not the approach we took.

For more than a year, we let him act out his mythical tragedy. We let him be this hero, even though this one was one doomed to fall. We let him love me, we let him try to destroy his father, and all we did was love him back. 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.

He had passed through it. Emily Grosvenor is a magazine writer and essayist living in McMinnville, Ore. You can follower her at emilygrosvenor. Sticky Header Night Mode. Related Articles. Trending Articles from Salon.