When the younger boy was toddling around, he didn’t call me “Mom” all the time. He called me by my name on occasion, because that’s what he heard other people call me. Of course, we had to teach him that, to him, I was “Mom”. We didn’t actively encourage him to call me “Melisa”, BUT…
…it was adorable when he did it. I vividly remember him calling me from upstairs:
(he said it with the “Ch” sound that you would recognize from the name Johann Sebastian BaCH or the LoCH Ness Monster)
Those days seem like eons ago. So many life experiences have come and gone since then, more than I could ever remember without looking at a scrapbook or reading various posts I’ve written! (I’m getting old, you know.) His little baby voice calling for me, though? It sticks with me, much like the feeling of his two-year-old hand inside of mine. I can hear it like it was yesterday, and it never fails to make me smile. Nowadays he always calls me Mom (except for when he is practicing his German and calls me Mutti), and his voice is much, much deeper, but one thing remains the same: he can call me, ANYTIME.
(This adorable photo = Copyright House of Jules)
Happy, happy FIFTEENTH birthday to the younger boy!
I love you!
©2010 Suburban Scrawl