She Calls Me Mom

Sometimes it is mama. Sometimes mom. Sometimes it is “MAAAAA-um!” spoken like an embarrassed teenager.

But what she doesn’t say as often? Mommy.

My little toddler is becoming a preschooler. How did this happen?

She uses phrases like, “yah!” and “Ok mom!” Next thing I know she will be tweeting jokes about Donald Trump.

They grow so fast.

Don’t get me wrong: I am more than ready to no longer have to deal with diapers. (We are not there yet.) And I definitely will not mourn the nights it takes hours (yes plural) to get her to sleep.

For now, I’m holding onto the sweet mispronunciations. The requests for “poggissles” (popsicles) and “ga-nilla bars” (granola bars). I try to embrace rather than feel annoyed when I am totally and utterly touched out. I know the day will come when hugs will be limited to a quick squeeze and she will run off to play.

The other night I heard her muttering something in her sleep. As I cracked open her bedroom door I heard her softly, sweetly whispering something.

Mommy.

I’ll take it.

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