The names I go by? Mommy. Mama. Mom (pretty new, courtesy of my son).
Oh, and Molly. Yep, you read that right. The other day (a terrible one for O), he refused to call me any of the above terms of endearment. I was, instead, Molly. And he screamed it all morning long.
MOLLY!!! DO YOU NO UNDERSTAND?! MOLLY!! IT DOESN’T LOOK GOOD!! MOLLY!! BIG TROUBLE!! MOLLY!!! DO YOU WANT A WALMART? EH EH EH??
(I have Thomas the Train, Spongebob, and Cars to thank for most of these lines. “Do you want” is O’s phrasing for what HE wants. I did NOT want a Walmart at that point, or a Target, or anywhere involving other humans.)
Oh, Mommy Love.
My husband used to be the preferred parent, and it broke my heart. But I’ve been the primary caregiver for the better part of the last three years. As any parent knows, parenting is a 24/7 job, and I’m no different. Nearly every night, at least one child – and usually, both – land in my bed. If you’re counting, that’s two tall adults and two small children in a king sized bed.
Three of the four? Yeah, they are all on one half of the bed. And two of the three have to be touching the third. AT ALL TIMES.
Last night (this morning, actually), I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d had a headache for three days from sleeping in what could only be termed a “toothpick position,” except for one arm around the boy who craved contact and the other trying to support my head. I got milk for the smaller child (who was running a temperature) and told the Mister that I was going to the guest bedroom.
Less than an hour later, I hear a door open and a crying MB. “Mama?? Maaammaaaaaa?!”
I had three choices: hide under the bed (painful, as it’s an IKEA bed, and quite low to the ground), play dead (possibly troubling to a sick two year old), or surrender. I thought about these choices for a good 90 seconds. I was exhausted and in pain.
I opened my mouth and, in a stage whisper, gave myself up. And she came running. She climbed into bed, her little body warmer than it should be, and curled up next to me.
Mommy. I miss you.
The same words I say to both children every time I pick them up from school, or Primary, or come home from an outing.
I missed you soooo much, baby.
An hour later, the other child came into the room on the tips of his toes, as is common.
Do you want a snuggle?
Sure, why not?
This morning, my husband rolled over in bed as I went to grab something from the master bathroom.
Are you tired?
Exhausted, thank you.
Those kids sure do love you. They looked at me like I was nobody last night. They only wanted you.
As I write this, I have a small toddler clinging to my legs, screaming. It’s good to be Queen.