Don’t call me mom

While enjoying a gorgeous day at Villa Borghese in Rome last week, I couldn’t help but cringe at an obnoxious child’s incessant whining. In stark contrast to the serene atmosphere, his complaints and smart-mouthing were practically shattering the warm sun beams.

Please Mommy. Can I? Can I? Mom. Mom. Can I? Can I? Mom! You never let me do anything! Gah! You’re so mean. I hate you, Mommy, you’re ruining my life!” “Mom…Mommy…Mama…”

Ahhhhhhh! Just kill me now! I took solace in the fact that my name wasn’t any variation of Mom. (Oh well, since I’m Katie, and not Mom, I think I’ll just be going, but you two have fun!)

I do want to be a mom though, so how can I avoid this nails-on-chalkboard exchange? The only option I can see is with a name change. I need to have my children call me something other than mom. I need a name that will add a buffer to what would otherwise be a reason to leap from the nearest tall structure.

Yes. I think I’d like my children to call me Superwoman. Wouldn’t that make even nasty phrases have a nicer ring to them? We could even change Mother’s Day to become “Superwoman’s Day.” Most moms I know are essentially Superwoman anyway, so it might actually be more appropriate.

Little babies could walk around with shirts that read, “Baby of World’s #1 Superwoman,” and they’d have the emblem below. So cute, right?

Even teenage children could be more fun.

Teenage Child: “Superwoman, you never let me have any fun!

Me: “Well, if you promise to do your chores without me having to ask, and refrain from sex until you’re 30, I’ll let you borrow my cape.

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