Momma

"Mamamamamama" - Maeve, after I left the house for choir practice last night

She knows who I am.

This little ball of frustration, exploration, emotion, and daring can not only, crawl, pull herself up, and sit on her own, she knows who I am.

She spent the evening with DH last night while I was at choir, and the moment I walked out the door, she started crying, looking at him, frowning, and saying "Mamamama".  He told me when he sang to her, which is what I do practically all day long, Maeve looked at him disapprovingly and start crying all over again, because it wasn't my voice.

I felt such an odd mix of emotion when he told me about all of this; I felt sorry that she had given him such a hard time and made him feel bad, and I felt sorry for her that she'd been so unhappy all night.  But at the same time, it suddenly felt like so much hard work and suffering had paid off: I'm the Momma and she knows it.

I'm not just the food and nap machine, her favorite lap, or that toy that has cool hair to pull on, nose and lips to yank, and glasses to steal.  I'm not the thing that cleans her butt or the one who takes cool toys like the keyboard away from her.  I'm the Momma.

At last.