Why I’m Not Ready to Be a Mom

Just before bedtime a few weeks ago, my nine-year-old daughter surprised me with some news.

“I’ve decided to call you Mom instead of Mommy from now on,” she informed me.

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“Because ‘Mommy’ sounds babyish,” she said.

“What do you have against babies?” I asked her. She giggled and gave me a big hug.

“Good night, Mom,” she said.

“Good night,” I whispered back after swallowing down a large lump in my throat. As I left her room, tears prickled my eyes. I had entered a Mommy and left, moments later, a Mom. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known this was going to happen– I just didn’t expect it to take place so quickly, with so little warning.

Weeks have passed since that night and she hasn’t called slipped and called me ‘Mommy’ even once. I’ve consoled myself with the knowledge that my six-year-old will still call me mommy for at least a few more years.

Then came Saturday.

Bruiser had an older neighbor friend over to play, and he quickly set about trying to impress him with his vast collection of Legos, his light-up Star Wars light sabers, and his repeated use of the word, ‘Dude.’ And then it happened.

“Mom,” he called from the playroom. “Can we have somefing to drink?” In the kitchen, I froze. Did I just hear what I thought I heard?

“MOM!” Bruiser shouted again. “MOMMMMMM! We want somefing to drink!”

“Coming, honey!” I shouted back weakly. Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad. Because here’s the cold, hard truth:

I’m not ready to be a Mom.

You may believe I’m overreacting, but just think for a moment about what comes to mind when you hear the word ‘Mommy,’ versus the word ‘Mom.’

I could describe the differences myself, but sometimes a (license-free) picture is worth a thousand words. Here’s what turned up when I did a keyword search on the all-knowing Internet for ‘Mommy:’

 
Oh look! It’s young, active Mommy at the beach!

Hey now! Check out stylish, makeup-wearing Mommy at a Mother-Daughter Tea!

And then there’s this oh-so-vibrant Mommy at the Pumpkin Patch.  She’s so dimply and matchy, my heart wants to burst.

I think I’ve made my point here.

Next, I did a search for photos with the keyword, ‘Mom.’ I’m just going to present what turned up without comment:

This is my new world, y’all.

The world of Mom.

Care to join me? I didn’t think so.

My six-year-old has persisted in calling me ‘Mom’ ever since his friend came over. At first, I tried to live with it, but it wasn’t long before I cracked.

“Bruiser, why are you calling me ‘Mom’ now? WHY?” I asked him plaintively yesterday afternoon.

“Because I’m pretending to be older,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“At least he’s honest,” my husband said.

“Well, I’m not answering to Mom,” I announced. “If you want my attention, Bruiser, you’re going to have to say ‘Mommy’ for at least the next two years.” My son cackled and shook his head.

“Never!” he proclaimed.

“I don’t understand why this is such an issue with you,” Dennis said.

“Because ‘Mommy’ sounds young and ‘Mom’ does not,” I told him simply. “I personally refuse to accept that I’m old enough to be a ‘Mom.'”

“You are starting to go gray, though,” Dennis said.

I stared at him.

“I’m just saying,” he said.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting with my cane in the corner.