Recently Q has taken to calling my Mummy. I’m a little torn about that. Why, you ask?
Well, from the time he started talking, I have always been Mama to him. I never thought that I would be Mama, always Mummy, but after a while I got used to it. Even though other people, including me from time to time, called me Mummy, he had decided that to him I was Mama. We knew that it wasn’t that he couldn’t say it, after all, he could say Daddy just fine. And after my husband showed him the bit from Family Guy where Stewie calls Lois every word he can think of for mother on a sound board on his phone, he would recite it, including Mommy, but still called me Mama. That was cool. In a way, it felt special, as though even though he knew other words to say Mama, in his mind, that’s who I was, and who he wanted me to be, despite anything else. Then one day, he called me Mummy. Then it was Mama sometimes and Mummy sometimes. Now it is just Mummy.
I don’t know why he changed, and in the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal, but to me, as much as I hate to admit it, it is. My little boy is growing up.