I have a love/hate relationship with the book Love You Forever.
I wasn’t familiar with this book before having children, but it was listed fourth on the 2001 Publishers Weekly All-Time Best selling Children’s Books list for paperbacks at 6.97 million copies (this doesn’t include the 1 million hardcover copies).
Amazon.com describes the book this way:
The mother sings to her sleeping baby: “I’ll love you forever / I’ll like you for always / As long as I’m living / My baby you’ll be.” She still sings the same song when her baby has turned into a fractious 2-year-old, a slovenly 9-year-old, and then a raucous teen. So far so ordinary–but this is one persistent lady. When her son grows up and leaves home, she takes to driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through her grown son’s window, and rocking the sleeping man in the same way. Then, inevitably, the day comes when she’s too old and sick to hold him, and the roles are at last reversed.
So: The part I “hate” about this book is the psycho mom “driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through the window, and rocking the sleeping man.”
I’m imagining here: My mother-in-law lives across town from her grown son, and if she ever did that even once (and, of course, I want to be perfectly clear: she wouldn’t!–I’m just sayin’), my husband would be getting a restraining order!
To me, this segment of the book crosses the line of endearing and borders on the insane. I mean, there are places for people like that. While you read the book, you have to wonder if the son doesn’t turn out “fractious”, “slovenly,” and “raucous” because of the mom who coddles him all his life!
Then there’s the part I love, which I suppose all mothers can relate to on some level. The truth is I can’t even read this book without getting teary at the end, when the son comes back to hold his aging mother and sing her the same song she sang to him all those years.
My son Micah turned two years old today.
He’s been sick and grumpy all week (I would be grumpy too if my eyes were alternately oozing–or glued shut). We’ve all been sick. I’ve been sick and incredibly tired. We haven’t gone out much with everyone sick, so it seems like Micah’s been getting into everything. He’s also been more demanding–even defiant this week, which is wearisome.
This morning, for example, we already had three little episodes before 9 AM. It was quiet for a minute, which of course left me wondering, “What is he doing?”
Just then I saw him pull Love You Forever off the shelf and walk toward me, holding the book up over his face where I could see the title.
“Couch?” he called. “Couch?” (His way of saying: “Come sit on the couch and read it to me!”)
I couldn’t resist. He needs more one-on-one time time, I thought. I had verbally edited this book when I read it to Mara, and as I sat down to read it to Micah for the first time, I was wondering which parts I should leave out for him.
As usual, on the very first page, I was drawn personally into the story, reminiscing about the time, just two short years ago, when Micah was my new (very little) baby.
I snuggled him on the couch while I read: “A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: ‘I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.'”
I turned the page. The picture there showed a little boy with a big smile, sitting in a bathroom, unrolling the toilet paper, pulling off sections and throwing them in the toilet.
Largely oblivious to the picture, I continued reading, struck by the parallel to my son’s current stage of life, as I read: “The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. . .”
At this point, my two-year-old had a huge–majorly huge–mischievous grin on his face. So much so, that I was nearly convinced he believed this book was written either about–or for–him! Before I could answer my own question of which parts of the story I shouldn’t read to this child (he certainly doesn’t need any more ideas!), Micah hurled himself off the couch, and announced, “Theeeee End!”
As he scampered off, I looked back down at the book: “. . . Sometimes his mother would say, ‘This kid is driving me CRAZY!’ But at night time when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room . . . [and] sang . . . ‘I’ll love you forever. . .'”
Again, with the tears. I just can’t read stuff like this!
I’ll love you forever, Mic, I thought.
I know. I’m pathetic.
And I don’t know why I was surprised less than an hour later when I found him–yes, my two-year-old–standing at the toilet, the paper unrolled on the floor, throwing pieces in, and flushing over and over and over and over. Did I mention he kept flushing?. . . In retrospect, I’m sure that must have looked really fun in the book! (Add “Tacitly encourages aberrant behavior” to my “hate” column.)
What was I thinking reading that book to him?
But tonight. . .
. . . when my two-year-old birthday boy was quiet, I opened the door to his room. . .
‘I’ll love you forever,’ Micah!
Happy 2nd Birthday!