Being Momma

Filed under: 2 years, Adventures in ParentingNolan has been sleeping a lot lately: three hour naps and wake ups that sometimes do not happen before the sun rises, thank you Universe for tiny blessings. Usually when his sleeping patterns change, it means something's morphing in his small body, and this time (although he is also growing at a rocketing, mindboggling speed), it seems to be related directly to his vocabulary.All of a sudden Nolan is talking to me like a fellow human being, inquiring after the cheese and telling me about how this truck is going to the cottee shop. He told me about the sock that was stuck in the bottom of his boot (as I was attempting to unsuccessfully wedge it on to his foot) and he has definite preferences in music (yes to Feist, no to Queens of the Stone Age). Several times in the last week I've gaped at him in wide-mouthed wonder: where did you come from, little wizened man? And where did you put my baby?Scattered among the new verbiage is a perplexing development in his preferred title for me: he now calls me Momma. I have no idea where it came from, I have always been Mommy, and as far as I know, none of his cartoon friends call their Mothers Momma. I don't feel like I'm a Momma, I picture Momma to be a large, barrel-chested woman with pink styrofoam curlers and a pocketful of thin mints. Mommy seems so much more fitting for a woman with a small child, but really, it's not up to me. Nolan also calls my Mom Nanny, though we tried to title her "Nana" to avoid confusion with his paternal Grandmother, who has always been Nanny to her grandkids.I guess kids will call us what they will, and I'm just grateful he hasn't declared me "Kristin". Yet.Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments