I vividly recall the moment when my son, just shy of 11, addressed me in a way that made me stop in my tracks. I could only stare, my brow furrowed and my mouth agape, as he casually walked away. The word that left his lips was “Mom.”
I had always thought that my kids would continue to call my husband and me “Daddy” and “Mommy” indefinitely — and honestly, I was perfectly fine with that. While my younger children had alternated between the two terms, my eldest had consistently used “Mommy.” But in an instant, that all changed.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, sounding far too grown-up, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of adolescence. He walked off to his room as if nothing had shifted in our world. My baby!
This was the year before he would enter middle school. His body was transforming, becoming more elongated and awkward, reminiscent of a newborn colt. He was still engaging in playful activities with his brothers, but his interests were increasingly diverging, and his friendships were expanding beyond the family. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of the eye rolls, the slumped shoulders, and the exasperated sighs — all signs of the teenage years that were on the horizon, sure to intensify before they improved. I understood that growing up was inevitable, but hadn’t it been just a blink ago that he was a sweet little toddler offering me dandelion bouquets with his chubby hands? Where had the time gone?
Motherhood is a continuous challenge, yet after a decade of raising four children, I felt like a seasoned pro. I could change a diaper in record time, soothe a toddler’s tantrum like an expert negotiator, and predict impending messes with uncanny accuracy. I was confident in my ability to nurture young kids. However, none of them had transformed quite like this one.
At times, I felt overwhelmed by the constant refrain of “Mommy.” It felt like an endless call to meet the needs of a dependent child. There were days when I heard it one too many times and rolled my eyes or sighed in frustration. But now, from this particular child, that chapter felt closed. It was as if someone had flicked a switch, signaling the end of one era of our relationship. The unexpected dropping of just two letters—a seemingly minor title change—hit me harder than I anticipated. With it came a profound realization: he no longer needed “Mommy” in the same way.
What came naturally to him was foreign to me. Yet, life often presents us with new thresholds we must cross, regardless of our readiness. We can’t foresee what lies ahead, but we must persevere, for that is the nature of life.
I was only beginning to experience the roller coaster of preadolescence, but this jolt reminded me that I had indeed climbed aboard. It’s remarkable how a simple utterance of “Mom” could trigger such a whirlwind of emotions: surprise, uncertainty about the future, and a bittersweet nostalgia for the years that have flown by, mingled with the heartache of letting go.
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In summary, the transition from “Mommy” to “Mom” signifies a pivotal moment in a child’s development and a mother’s journey. It encapsulates the bittersweet nature of growing up and the emotional challenges that come with it, urging parents to embrace change while cherishing the memories of their children’s earlier years.