VivaCity

I’m beyond curious as to what Julian’s first word will be. I distinctly remember the biting disappointment when Spencer looked adoringly at his father and softly said, “Dada.” In order to nip another situation like that in the bud, I find myself inundating the poor child with “Momma”s. I am bound and determined that he recognize who wears the pants in this family.

“Momma makes a bottle! Look at Momma making a bottle for Momma’s baby. Oh Momma, you are so clever Momma, look how Momma mixes a bottle for Momma’s boy. Momma Momma Momma Momma.”

And now, halfway through my headlong plunge into this task, I realize just what I have become. It’s official, folks. I have in fact become…a Pokemon.

Remember Pokemon? All the cartoon-y characters, running around saying nothing but their own names in conversation-like cadence? This is what I have been reduced to. A PokeMomma.

But you know what? It will all be worth it. My silly conversations to myself, with myself, about myself…the sacrifice of any real adult conversation before 7 p.m….will all be worth it, when my JuJuBee sits up one day, points a little Vienna sausage finger at me and claims me for his very own, “Momma.”

You better recognize.