Every once in a while I discuss that, but I try to keep it low key unless there's a topic worth discussing. The "short one" is our youngest, and our foster child who we are waiting to adopt.
When she first came to us, I was Miss Jenn. She had a mom whom she still had visitation with and I don't like to interfere in those situations. Her mom was her mom. With the exception of the real little ones who call me whatever they decide to call me, I'm not mom until I'm actually MOM, regardless of the role I play in their lives.
The end of last year, the short one's biological mother surrendered her parental rights to us, which put us on the path to her adoption. In this, the short one began to try on what she'd call me, "mom, mommy, momma." It was all very cute hearing her practice.
Anyway.... In all of this, our daughter decided to step up to the plate with what she thought needed to happen. She told the short one that she's rather she refer to me as something other than "mommy" because that belonged to her. I get that. I didn't fight with her about it or correct it, because that's a sensitive issue as well. Another kid coming around calling HER mommy... mommy. We all talked about things and discussed how to best make everyone happy and comfortable.
A few days later, my daughter decided she was going to go in a completely different direction. She'd decided that from here forward, she was now going to refer to me as Jennifer.
Her logic was that calling mom in a crowd got many head turns, but not necessarily mine -- so calling me by my first name would be much more effective. Besides - she's at the ripe old age of 11 and entirely too mature. No need to refer to me as mommy anymore. Jennifer it will now be.
Yeah... I don't think so kid.
I'm MOM! I earned that title! I equate that to Dr. Smith - who spent so many years in school studying for his/her doctorate. Go on... Call 'em Mr./Mrs. Smith - see the correction come flying. I don't blame 'em... They earned it! You WILL call them DOCTOR!
I am MOM. I've earned it... I spent 9 grueling months fighting hormones & the desire to eat whole pizzas and 5 lbs of mashed potatoes simultaneously. I spent 3 months throwing up at the mere site of Port Wine Cheese or the smell of steak cooking.... I earned it! I bear the stretch marks. I can no longer wear a bikini and will forever have this extra skin from 9 lb children living inside of my body.
I became the human taxi cab when you wanted to be shuffled from one side of town to the other and was awoken in the middle of the night various times for various reasons. Many times, to be puked on.
The list goes on, shall I continue??
You call me MOMMMMMMM.....
At the end of this conversation - my daughter turned three shades of pale. She'd already informed me that she doesn't want to have kids because she's "not shooting a baby out of her coochie."
This conversation may have sealed the deal of no grand kids for me from this child....
Or maybe, just maybe -- she will think carefully about the things I've told her and grasp the fact that I've earned my "Mommy Stripes" and will continue to do so through out all my kids' lives.
That's what you call me!
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