I want Mommy!

Today my almost three-year old daughter started calling me Mom. Mom, I want a snack. Mom, I have to go potty. Mom, can we go swimming in the pool?

I must say I was a little thrown, and not only because we don’t have a pool. Last night, I went to bed as Mommy. Today I woke up as Mom.

How did this happen? There was no discussion, no official transgression. Did I miss a memo? Or has my child suddenly become so busy between Play Doh and Princesses that she feels the need to abbreviate. No time for the extra syllable, Mom, I’ve got a tricycle to pedal and crayons to break.

I’m not ready for this. Mommy is who I am; Mommy is who I want to be. Mommy is the one who cuddles with you and kisses your boo-boos. Mom is someone who gives you lunch money and drives you to soccer practice. Mommy feeds you, clothes you, bathes you, tucks you in and provides every source of comfort. Mom is that meanie who won’t let you eat cookies for breakfast or finger paint the dog. Mommy is the center of the universe. Mom is that lady who lives here and cooks the food.

Mommy is the mother of a little girl. Mom is the mother of a little girl who is growing up…rapidly. I should be beaming at the way she is blossoming, learning and asserting her independence more each day. And I couldn’t be more proud. But at the same time, I can’t help but to feel a slight sadness I graduate from Mommy to Mom, just as my baby graduates from toddler to young child.

If only they could stay little forever, it’s the universal wish of Motherhood. Though that would only be practical if our own aging were stumped as well. Lest the world be full of dirty diapers – courtesy of the eternally pre-potty trained and their incontinent mothers.

No, it’s better this way. We guide them along, holding their hands for as long as they will let us. And when it’s time to let go, as hard as it is, releasing that grasp is all we can do. The reward comes in taking a step back and watching them flourish.

Besides, think of the harm all those Pampers would inflict on the environment.

Though I’m not ready to give up being Mommy, I’ll have to settle into a reluctant acceptance. And learn to appreciate that at least I still earn a title of endearment. At the rate the clock is ticking, Hey You or That Woman Who Gave Birth to Me, will be here be all too soon.

Then again, maybe I can get her to call me Mommy just a little bit longer. Perhaps bribery would work. Maybe if I buy her that swimming pool….