He called me Mama

It was 10:30 at night. I padded across the floor of Fly's room to his dresser. Almost noiselessly, I opened the top drawer and felt around for his nail clippers. I once refused to trim his fingernails while he slept, too afraid to risk waking him up. But Fly's nails were almost as long as mine. I had let the nail trimming slide in the past few weeks, and it showed. Time to perform the delicate operation.

Behind my back, Fly stirred. I paused my search, then continued feeling around, sure he had to be asleep by now. He hadn't wanted to nurse to sleep. JP rocked him for a while, then put Fly to bed still fussing. He just had to be asleep.

"Mama?"

Oops.

Wait-- He called me Mama? Fly calls JP Dad, and he knows to say Elmo, but he has never, ever called me by name.

I turned around, and there was a sweet little face looking at me. Fly was standing. How long had he been watching me?

"Sweetie, why are you up? Did I wake you?" I said. But my guess was he hadn't fallen asleep yet.

Fly seemed so happy to see me. And I was so happy to finally be called Mama.

I talked to him soothingly, gave him a change, wrapped him in a blanket (not quite a swaddle -- it's a bedtime habit) and sat down with him in the chair. Fly snuggled close. He lay quietly in my lap. His eyes eventually closed. He drifted to sleep.

With his Mama.