Oscar, at almost five, is long past textbook “separation anxiety.” He knows I go to work, and I come home. He knows that if I go out for the evening, I always return. He even tells me to “have a good time” when I head out to the movies or dinner.
But if I go upstairs to get some laundry, or step onto the porch to water a plant, or head to the bathroom, he immediately–as if affected by radar–stops whatever he is doing and is on my tail.
Sometimes this is fine, and other times it’s not. But ninety-nine times out of a hundred it is completely unnecessary–because I am no more than 100 feet or 30 seconds from him.
So today as I was heading upstairs to gather a load of laundry from the hamper–a riveting task, I must assure you, and Oscar was traipsing after me up the stairs, I turned and asked him wearily, “Why are you following me?”
He smiled a boyish smile and said, “Becuase you’re adorable and I love you and I will follow you forever.”