“I Can’t Stand How Much I Love You.”

“Mommy, I love you so much. Sometimes I can’t stand how much I love you. It’s like I love you just too, too much.”

He’s every bit my child. Hyperbolic superlatives are not lost on us.

“Actually, Mommy, I don’t think I could ever love you too much. Right? There is no such thing as loving this mom too much.”

“Well, it’s possible.”

“How?”

“Well, if you loved me so much that you could never be away from me, that wouldnt’ be good. If you said, ‘I can’t go to school because I love my mom too much.’ Or, ‘I can never spend the night at anyone’s house because I just love my mom too much.’ Or, ‘I can’t go to camp.’ Or, ‘I can’t go to college.’ Or, ‘I can’t marry a girl because I love my mom too much.’ That would be too much.”

“Mommy. I’ll never love a girl more than I love you.”

“Someday you will.”

“No, I won’t.”

“If you get married, then I want you to love her more than you love me.”

His voice is flat, his eyelids half mast. “Mommy. You. Are my mother. You raised me.”

“Oh, but –” Wait. Why am I trying to talk him out of these truths?

“You know what? You are right, Tyler. Never forget it.”