I love being Mummy. That’s how I see myself. Mummy, not Mum.
I love those families where the kids call their parents Mummy and Daddy all through their teens. Yes, they’re mainly posh kids, but not all of them. I wish our family was one of them.
My eldest stopped calling me Mummy about when he left primary school, although it took him a year or so to remember that it was no longer the done thing to say ‘Mummy’. Needless to say, my younger son caught the Mum bug not long afterwards, so I was already Mum to him by the time he left primary school.
I love Daddy being Daddy too. The boys might call him Dad, but when I talk to him or about him, he’s always Daddy. I will just spare their blushes in front of their friends and call him Dad then, but the rest of the time he is most definitely Daddy!
But I’m pleased to say that one person most definitely still calls us Mummy and Daddy – my daughter. Although the weird thing is, I’m so used to being called Mum now that, even though I love Mummy, it takes me a bit by surprise when I hear it. But it melts my heart every single time.
I’m aware that my daughter is growing up fast. She doesn’t have that tween girl attitude I hear a lot of people talk about it. She is still a delightful girl. But she’s definitely growing up. She’s always held my hand everywhere and I have treasured every second of it. I love the feeling of her hand in mine and the fact that she does it because she wants to, with no embarrassment at all. But in the last few months, she’s stopped holding my hand and it has broken my heart a little bit. I miss that little hand in mine and I know I will never get it back.
She will be leaving primary school in a few months.She will be mixing with people who say Mum, not Mummy and maybe she will stop saying it too. She’s already stopped holding my hand, so I am going to treasure every last time she calls me Mummy because I don’t know how much longer it will last.