There will be a day when I go from Mama to Mom.
A day when my heart will break slightly, a tiny crack forming with one missing syllable.
A day when he’ll put on his own socks.
Find Chutes and Ladders childish.
Push away when I stay too long with a hug.
There will be that day.
I remind myself of this during the draining moments when I can’t read the same story one more night in a row, or I find myself repeating the same command to ears in a faraway land.
I say it over in my head as I blink at the clock in the early morning light, wondering how the universe aligned to gift two night owls with the most cheerful early bird.
For now, I drink in Mama. I bathe in it. I relish the magnitude of the title.
With every silly nickname and every ticklish foot. With every request for a hug after big feelings overtake a small body.
For one day, I’ll have blinked, and my familiar name will have slipped away.