Daughter started calling me “Mom” this past week. It had always been “Mommy” sometimes “Mama,” occasionally “Jenn-ee-fer” the way her teachers pronounce my name. But never just “Mom.” The first time she said it I had asked her to wash her hands. She turned to me and said, “Mom! I need a chair!” Mom? Really, Mom? Where had that come from?
Preschool? She moved to the Preschool room just last week.
Turning three? Her birthday was less than a month ago.
It’s one or the other.
Either way, she’s growing up.
Over the weekend she continued to call me Mom.
Mom, MOm, MOM! Come with me!
Mom! Mom! Where are you?
(insert Husband’s chuckle)
I tried to change it.
You can call me Mommy, okay?
(insert Husband’s chuckle, again)
I look at her and see a little girl. A very tall little girl. Her laughter lights up any room. Her imagination is wider than the Mississippi. And her little arms are really good at hugging. Really, she can call me anything she wants.