I used to think Freud was full of shizzat. Oedipal fantasies? Hysteria? Penis envy? Hogwash.
But I confess I’m getting a little jealous of Leigh Ann’s breasts. Call it boob envy. Those two mounds of mammary glory may be the greatest childcare tools in the history of mankind. Nate wakes up screaming? Put him on the boob. Nate won’t go down? Put him on the boob. Nate gets restless at his Mommy & Me class? Put him on the boob.
But what happens when Mommy’s not around? Well, what happens is poor boobless Daddy has to fumble with re-heating refrigerated breast milk and, by the time he’s done, Nate is usually teetering on bat shit crazy. I feel like an Amish guy trying to raise a barn without a hammer. I mean well. But, really, I’m just in the way.
Long story short, let us not forget that nature has her own ground rules – some several million years in the making – and we break them at our peril.
Or, as some old fart once said, “Anatomy is destiny.”