Growing apart.

Esther, at 22 months, is starting to call me Mommy instead of Mama. Just now, as I nursed her and put her to bed, she was trying on the new moniker for size. I asked her, again and again, "What's my name?" until she said Mama again, and then I hugged her close and said "yes, my name is Mama" as tears stung my eyes. I know it's entirely age-appropriate for her to start calling me Mommy now, and it's cute as all get-out to hear her say it, but a big part of me is not ready for her to stop calling me Mama yet. I waited so very long to hear her say it. And it's one last, precious link remaining to her sweet babyhood as she charges full steam ahead into her toddler years.

Right now we're moving through a bunch of milestones, each of which leaves her a little more independent, a little less in need of me. Going to sleep on her own, and sleeping through the night, in her very own bed was a big one. Don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic that she's reached that point, but at the same time I miss sleeping with her warm cuddly little self, and I miss my role as the giver of sleep. Other, smaller milestones - she can more or less brush her own teeth, put on her own shoes (if not always on the correct feet), and feed herself with a spoon. She hits all these milestones on time or a little bit early. I am happy she is doing so well, and proud of her successes. But she needs me just a little bit less each day, and I know someday I'll wake up and she won't need me - or want me - for anything at all.

May that day not come for another sixteen years.