Yesterday morning I noticed that when my almost 10 year old son is tired or sick, he still calls me “Mommy” but most of the time, I’m just “Mom.” Which is fine. I’m not weeping over his lost babyhood or anything. I enjoy him for what he is at every stage, and most of the time, quite like him as a boy edging into young man.
Then I thought about what I call my own mother. While I am sure that at some early stage of life I called her “Mommy” and “Mom,” for as long as I can remember, I’ve called her “Mum.” My own grandmother was “Grandmum” and while my son calls me “Mom,” my mother is his “Grandmummy,” probably because that’s what I used.
Interesting, the names we choose.
And the ones we don’t, at least not initially. Here are the answers to the frequently asked questions about my own last name, which I did not change when I married.
- G-E-T-G-O-O-D. Just like it sounds.
- Yes it is my real name.
- I don’t know where the name comes from. It was my father’s stepfather’s last name. He was Irish, but it’s not an Irish name.
- Gee, I’ve never heard that before (eyeroll).
