Stage 5 Clinger

“Mommy, can I touch your boobs? I didn’t get to do it this morning. Pleeeeeeease?!”

At what point as a mother does one draw the line on allowing your child to molest you? It’s starting to get weird and slightly uncomfortable for me. I thought it was a phase. Sigh.

She is infatuated with the human body. It’s a healthy and very innocent curiosity that certainly highlights her personality and free spirit. I want her to feel comfortable asking questions and I try to answer them as truthfully as possible given her age. That said, she doesn’t think and/or live her life like a normal six year old. She sees the world differently than most. It’s fascinating yet mildly troubling at the same time.

Despite valiant parental efforts, personal boundaries are nonexistent in her world. If she had her way, we would move to a nudist colony and set up permanent camp. I know what you’re thinking and nothing could be further from the truth. I do not make a habit out of parading around naked in front of my children. I specifically try to avoid it now given the circumstances. That said, this kid can be sound asleep when I get in the shower and as soon as I step out, she appears out of nowhere like a goddamn sneaky black cat in the middle of the night. It’s like she has a sixth (i.e. sick) sense or something. “Boobies!”

I guess I should just say “no” when she asks to grope me, but what kind of message is that sending? I certainly don’t want to create a scenario where she bottles all of her inappropriate urges inside until she is 18 years old and then all hell breaks loose and I am stuck dealing with an adult child who is now on a perverted path of self destruction and only became that way because I didn’t let her touch my boobs when she was six. I refuse to carry that kind of guilt with me to the grave.

“Fine, cop a feel. You have 3 seconds.”

Her expression is as if I just surprised her with a visit to the unicorn petting zoo. Every. Damn. Time. One would think the novelty would wear off at some point. One would think. It’s not that big of a deal though, right? That’s what I convinced myself of right up until the moment I learned that she had started to branch out. I guess I don’t blame her for looking elsewhere. My boobs suck.

Poor Grandma. I should’ve warned her.

Dear Freud, help me.


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