Max turned 8 last week, and he still calls me Mommy. My heart will break the day he stops, even though I know that day is most likely coming, closer with every moment.
He’s tried other names for me, but they’ve never stuck. I tell him how lucky he is that he is the *only* person in the whole world who gets to call me Mommy, that no one else gets to use that name. It’s just for us.
It makes my heart soar every time he says it, even as I hear his voice changing around the words, the tone shifting and maturing.
I am fiercely protective of Mommy.
I get daily digest emails from Quora, and saw this question the other morning, and I was sad for this mother, as well as her daughter.
Mommy is not an adjective, it’s a title, and it’s one of the most important ones I have the privilege of carrying. You don’t get to call me Mommy if I haven’t birthed you, it’s as simple as that. I’ll happily be “a mom,” or “a parent,” even “Max’s mom” is fine if that’s the context in which you know me.
But you don’t get to call me Mommy.