He calls out “momma!” at least 16 times per minute. Look at this. Try this. I’m thirsty. Follow me. Let’s be ghosts. Hide! I want one.

Yesterday it bothered me, to the point that I started to mimic him. Oh heavens, please forgive me. But today, I decided to be a little bit more contemplative and deliberate about embracing it. After all, I know that before I know it, there will come a time when he’ll be more inclined to talk to a garbage can than his own mother. That little tiny high-pitched voice will turn into a manly grumble. And I know I’ll miss these days and all that “momma”-ing.

So today, I’m going to embrace it. I’m going to wrap my arms around him and listen to everything he has to say, complete with eye contact and legitimate interest in his words. I’m not too jaded to hear what’s all been said before, because it hasn’t been said by this particular little human. Because there’s something truly thrilling about watching my boy learn all these new things for the first time himself.

There’s this magical glue that we mommas have that keeps our little ones at our sides and fuses our souls. There will be times when our children will be so far away, even if in the next room, but that momma bond is one tough cookie. It can survive the utmost tragedies and coldness (a la Gone With the Wind). And if anything is truly worth celebrating, it is this mother/child connection.

I know firsthand how much mommas mean, because I know what mine means to me. It’s enough to make a grown person cry. That sublime connection alone makes it such a pleasure to be this little man’s momma.

P.S. Speaking of little Peanuts: my husband told me today that our son knows the words to the Walker Texas Ranger theme song. Oh brother! Not sure I can embrace that one. Haha!