Being Called "Mom"

One of the most beautiful sounds to my ears is hearing my name called. But not my given name – my “parenting” name.

“Mama.” And “Mom.”

My oldest daughter calls me “mama.” Always has. She spells it when writing a note to me as “mamma.” And I love it. My youngest calls me just “mom.”

My ears never grow tired of hearing those words. They are like salve to a wound as soon as I hear them. I know they are not always said in adoration. Sometimes they are uttered in frustration as in ….”Moooooommmmm!” Or more recently, as in “Moth-er!” My oldest decided to use that term with me when she wasn’t happy. HA HA

But I still love them.

There is something so powerful – so magical – so gripping in the words. It’s as if I’m needed. I’m loved. I’m claimed.

Even if spoken in a casual statement, my heart is immediately tendered to my child. They look to me for something. They are seeking me out, sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally.

“Mama.” And “mom.”


I love those names.

I think I will be 90 years old and still smile and feel my heart flutter when I am spoken of as a mother. (And maybe at age 90, as a grandmother too!)

I accept the responsibility that comes with being a parent, and I welcome it. I embrace it.


For it has changed me forever.