Recognition

     When Drew was a very small boy, between one and two years-old, he would not call me momma. I was not happy about it, he called his father “da” and since I am the one who bore him I wanted a little recognition. Nope. “Da.” Everything was “da.” Fine. Whatever. Until...one day when little Drew had escaped my careful eye and climbed up on the dining room table and couldn’t get down. He was calling for “da” to come and save his little butt. I was the only one home that represented the parent population so when I peeked around the corner to see what was up, he was sitting on the table, legs kicked out in front of him and smiling that he said “Da!” A-ha…he’s calling me “da.” How about that? That was fabulous. My husband was not amused by the fact that we were sharing the title of “da” and teaching the name “momma” began to be a priority in our dealings with little Andrew.