One moment, I was embraced by the title “mommy,” and the next, it felt like I was abruptly upgraded to “mom.” The change was swift—almost too swift to process.
Well, not entirely without hints. My 11-year-old had been slowly distancing herself from calling me “mommy” in front of her friends over the past few months. At home, she still used “mommy” but often seemed disappointed in her choice. She confided that “mommy” felt childish, and she preferred “mom.” I reassured her that she should use whichever name felt right.
My 9-year-old was a different case altogether. To him, I was “mommy,” and that was that. Or so I thought.
Then one August day, they returned from camp, and within just five minutes, they both switched to “mom.” “Mom, can I have water?” my 11-year-old asked. “Mom, do you have any snacks?” my 9-year-old chimed in. The word “mom” sounded strange to my ears, and weeks later, it still does. They seem older now, and it’s as if with that transition, they took a significant leap into their adolescent years. Too often, I find myself not realizing they’re calling for me when I hear “mom.”
Even though I had discussed this transition with my 11-year-old, I was unprepared for how much I would miss being “mommy.” I long for the days when I would hear their sweet, innocent voices say “mommy.” It’s a sadness that many mothers experience—the kind that arises every time our children shed a bit of their innocence and move toward lives that need us less directly. I find myself wishing I had cherished the last time they called me “mommy” so I could keep that memory alive, but alas, I didn’t—and now it’s lost in that void where all “last” moments tend to vanish.
At the exact moment I became “mom,” my husband transitioned to being “dad.” This wasn’t surprising; “daddy” is just as childlike as “mommy.” However, the first time I heard my daughter say “dad” instead of “daddy,” it took my breath away.
He passed away three and a half years ago when he was still “daddy.” The last time they called for him, it was “daddy.” In the heartfelt speech my daughter gave at his funeral, she touched everyone with her words, remembering how “my daddy played basketball with me.” In the memory box filled with letters and cards, he has always been “daddy.”
They will never get to say “dad” to his face or see him try to mask the sadness of no longer being “daddy,” just as I feel the loss of not being “mommy.” We will never share those moments, looking across the table at each other, marveling at how our little ones, who once fit in our arms, are now navigating the world as tweens, rolling their eyes at “mom” and “dad.”
This serves as a poignant reminder of his absence—not just for this milestone but for all the milestones yet to come.
While my heart sank when I first heard “dad,” it also warmed. His role in their lives evolved, even in his absence, as mine did. It’s a testament that he is still a part of our journey. We often say he’s with us, but it can feel hollow. This change—this evolution—proves that he remains a part of our lives, and that gives me a strange comfort, softening the sharp edges of grief.
Watching my kids develop into individuals with vibrant personalities who can make me laugh and impress me with their cleverness is endlessly exciting. Yet, it’s bittersweet as there’s no way to rewind or freeze time.
This bittersweetness is intensified by the fact that my husband, their daddy-turned-dad, isn’t here to witness it alongside me. However, I find solace in the proof that he’s still with us in some way, accompanying us on this journey, regardless of how many milestones we reach.
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Summary
The transition from “mommy” to “mom” is a bittersweet journey marked by the loss of childhood innocence and the evolution of relationships. While the author navigates the changes with her children, the absence of her husband as he becomes “dad” instead of “daddy” adds depth to the emotional landscape. This poignant reflection highlights the challenges and joys of motherhood, reminding us of the fleeting nature of time and the enduring presence of loved ones.
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