"The first time I lied to my baby, I told him that it was his face on the baby food jar. The second time I lied to my baby, I told him that he was the best baby in the world, that I hoped he’d never leave me. Of course I want him to leave me someday. I don’t want him to become one of those fat shadows who live in their mothers’s houses watching game shows all day. The third time I lied to my baby I said, "Isn’t she nice?" of the woman who’d caressed him in his carriage. She was old and ugly and had a disease. The fourth time I lied to my baby, I told him the truth, I thought. I told him how he’d have to leave me someday or risk becoming a man in a bow tie who eats macaroni on Fridays. I told him it was for the best, but then I thought, I want him to live with me forever. Someday he’ll leave me: then what will I do?"