I remember the first time I heard Sean call me mom instead of mommy. It was in the Wal-Mart parking lot. As we got out of the car, he reached up and grabbed my hand and said in his best grown-up voice, “You better hold my hand mom, parking lots can be dangerous.”
I remember how my ears perked up when he said mom. It was an awakening sort of sound, like at a wedding when someone clinks a spoon on a wine glass — a sound that rises above and is out of rhythm with the other noise of life and makes you stop what you are doing and take note of the moment.
It seemed that in that moment we crossed over an invisible line – mommy on one side and mom on the other, baby on one side and boy on the other.
But the other day, he slipped up and he called me mommy. He didn’t even notice it, but I did.
And once again, it was the clear call of a tiny bell that says, stop and listen, take note. It was a sweet sweet sound in my ear, to be called mommy again, for the first time in a long while.
I wanted to stand very still and savor the moment because I know I won’t be crossing back over that invisible line into babyhood again. We have gone too far. And honestly, I don’t desire to swim against the currents of time.
But it sure was nice to visit.