Before Robby was born I always found it odd when married couples referred to themselves as "Mommy" and "Daddy" in front of their children. My grandparents were in such a habit that they I never heard them refer their spouse by name. I never quite understood this practice until Robby started to speak. Scott still hasn't gotten over the fact that Robby was calling him "Scott" long before he muttered "Daddy."
Robby referring to his father as "Scott" was natural. After all, he heard it being called through the house since he was an infant. After the humor of the situation wore off, Scott and I made a resolution to call each other Mommy and Daddy until Robby figured the whole "name thing" out.
It took Robby nearly three years to say "Mommy." He could say "cookie," "cake," "ice cream" and "black bear" before he said the much anticipated "Mommy." When he first started calling me, I smiled every time I heard his sweet little voice. I thought I would never tire of hearing his call for me.
Somewhere along the line, the sweet calling of "Mommy" morphed into a demanding request. It seems that nowadays I cannot leave a room for five minutes before I hear the loud squawking of "Mommy" coming from one of my "boys." Between Scott and Robby, I am in high demand!
Robby has gotten into the habit of bellowing for me whenever he has a need. I hear the loud undulating call of "Mommy" when he wants to watch cartoons, when he wants more milk, or when he wants to show me something. He no longer feels it is necessary to get up and walk to find me. He, along with his Daddy, have learned that merely yelling for me is more convenient and yields quick results.
The calls have become so frequent that I have started to count the walks through the hallway as exercise. I should start wearing a pedometer during the day. I am sure that it would confirm the fact that I walk miles everyday responding to yelled requests.
Something has got to change. I know that this has become a bad habit for "the boys," but I also know that I have to assume some blame for allowing this to occur. Hopefully, by drawing attention to the issue, we can work towards minimizing the fishwife, bellowing calls permeating throughout the house
When I was growing up, my mom used to tell us that she was changing her name. She also warned that she wasn't going to tell any of us (me and my siblings) what the new name was. I remember thinking it was a funny game. Now that I am in her shoes, I understand that there is really nothing funny about what she was feeling.
In an effort to restore my sanity, I have come up with a stopgap solution. I am no longer going to respond to "Mommy." I am going to tell Robby that my name is "Sacajawea." I'm not going to come when he calls until he can pronounce it correctly. As for Scott, he'll need to learn how to spell it!