There is something about the term “Momma” that elicits an involuntary reaction from me. It’s akin to the discomfort of nails scraping against a blackboard or the sound of metal scraping on porcelain. The word itself feels overly sentimental and cloying—truly, it’s the best descriptor I can conjure.
Each evening, I express gratitude to the parenting deities for allowing me to transition directly from “Mama” to “Mom,” bypassing the overly saccharine “Mommy” entirely.
My aversion to this term is perplexing. I hear “Mommy” echoing throughout the parenting community, and it doesn’t phase me at all. Yet, when it comes from my own beloved children, it sends a shiver down my spine and makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. The term triggers a visceral reaction similar to that which I experience with whining: if it continues, I might just lose my composure.
My children are well aware of this and often wield it against me. When they are being cheeky, seeking something, or competing for the title of Most Annoying Child, they eagerly employ “Mommy,” knowing it will grab my attention.
Picture the following lines delivered in the most exasperating tone possible:
- “Oops, Mommy, when you gotta fart, you gotta fart.”
- “Mommy, can we have M&M’s for breakfast?”
- “Just one more minute, Mommy!”
While this tactic rarely yields the desired results, it certainly makes my jaw tighten.
Do not refer to me as “Mommy.” The term feels excessively sugary, overly sentimental, and somewhat condescending, laden with cultural implications that I struggle to shake off.
Consider the film Mommie Dearest, which left a lasting mark on children in the ’80s. When I envision “Mommy,” I can’t help but picture Joan Crawford’s stern eyebrows, which are rather intimidating.
There’s a perception that “Mommy” lacks seriousness. It’s a term suited for novelty onesies, adorning Precious Moments figurines, or describing matching outfits for mothers and their children. The term evokes a sense of silliness and fragility that makes it easily dismissed.
A “Mommy” might offer a hug and tell you how special you are, but she doesn’t establish boundaries like a mother does. She doesn’t provide the tough love that a mom will.
While I can share cuddles and laughter, my typical demeanor leans more toward practicality than warmth. I’m simply not cut out to be “Mommy.”
So, if you’re craving M&M’s for breakfast—which is not entirely off the table—here’s my advice: Don’t call me Mommy.
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In summary, the term “Mommy” does not resonate with my identity as a mother. It carries connotations that feel trivial and overly sweet, which doesn’t align with my parenting style. Instead, I prefer to embrace titles that reflect strength and authority without the sugary undertones.
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