Ally seems to have entered what I will now refer to as the “Mommy Phase.” While she is a little extra clingy to me, what Ally’s Mommy Phase mostly consists of is the word “mommy.” I am fairly certain she said it 523 times this morning alone. If someone would invent a FitBit like thing that counted words instead of steps, I’d buy it just to prove I wasn’t exaggerating.
Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing I love more than hearing Ally’s sweet little voice calling out to me. It’s just that I’m running out of responses. Our conversations now go like this…
Ally: Mommy, mommy
Me: Whats up, sweet pea?
Me: What can I do for you, honey?
Me: Yes, Ally
Ally: Mommy, mommy, mommy
Ally: Mommy, mommy
Ally: Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy
She’s just saying mommy for the fun of it. She doesn’t have anything to say or need anything or want anything (other than to say mommy again). It shouldn’t, and mostly doesn’t, bother me. But there’s just a little part of me that is screaming “If you don’t want to actually talk to me, then don’t keep saying my name!” Like someone is repeatedly calling me and then hanging up.
That is just the happy “mommy”s. I also get all the sad ones too. The whiny “mommy”s when she isn’t getting what she wants. The angry “mommy”s when she STILL isn’t getting what she wants. And then the pitiful, heart-wrenching, crying “mommy”s when we tuck her in at night or leave her at daycare. The ones that stick in my head and get dramatized when I think back on them – her tear streaked face and outstretched arms as her teacher holds her back in the room and the door closes behind me with her crying “Moommmmy!” What kind of monster am I that I can just walk away from that image (leaving my child to play with her friends, read books, and do art projects all day)?
It doesn’t seem fair that Chris doesn’t have to be haunted by the echoings of his name being called as he walks down the hall. But with Ally still calling him Danny, I’m not sure it would affect him that much anyway.