My Olivia has gone and got herself a nasty little Electra complex. On the way home from our anniversary celebration Thursday night, Liv piped up from the backseat and asked when it was her turn to have an anniversary.
"Well, you'll have an anniversary when you grow up and get married."
"When I grow up I'm going to marry my dad."
"Oh honey. Daddy is already my husband. You can't marry him because he's your daddy. You'll find a boy of your own to marry when you get big."
"NO! Daddy is my husband. Not yours. Daddy is my husband."
I don't even know how to respond to something like that. I know it's just a silly little whim on the part of my daughter. But it kind of freaks me out. I don't remember ever having these types of feelings about my father. I recall the first time I read about the Freudian/Jungian Oedipal theories and how I laughed dismissively. Penis envy? For real? Why in the hell would I want a piece of flesh dangling vulnerably between my legs? I like my tucked in, protected genitals just fine, thank you very much. I'm not so crazy about the aesthetic quality of the vagina, but the containment is just divine.
I don't claim to know more about the human psyche than Freud or any other great mind of human psychology. Obviously, based on my daughter's feelings and behavior, there is some truth to the theory that little girls have over-attachments to their fathers at some point in their early development. It's comforting to read that her feelings are completely normal and temporal.
"Liv, I have a feeling you might change your mind when you're grown."
"No, I won't."
Sigh. She's only 3 1/2. It won't be long before she's a teenager and hates her Dad and me with equal venom.
2 hours ago