There’s a noise in my house that’s louder than the TV, more persistent than the cat at 6 a.m., and definitely more grating than Rex crunching chips at midnight. It’s the sound of one of my kids saying “Mom.” And by saying, I mean chanting. Begging. Screeching. Whispering. Repeating until I think I might legally change my name just to get a break.
How many times can one child say it in an hour? Infinity. That’s the answer. Infinity.
Sometimes it starts sweet. I’m folding laundry, and Anthony goes, “Mom?” in that soft little-kid voice. Cute, right? I melt. I answer. Then he says it again. And again. And again. By the tenth “Mom,” I’m like, “Yes, Anthony, I hear you, what is it?” And he just stares at me like he forgot why he started this performance in the first place.
Nico isn’t any better. He’s older, but he’s mastered the urgent Mom yell that makes me drop whatever I’m doing, sprint down the hall, and then find out the “emergency” was that he can’t find the remote. That’s it. A full-body panic for SpongeBob.
It doesn’t even matter if I’m in the same room. I could be two feet away, making dinner, and I’ll still get “Mom? Mom? MOM?” while Nico just sits there looking right at me. Like, child, I am standing here, you have eyes, I know you see me. Rex laughs, of course. He thinks it’s hilarious. He doesn’t get it because no one’s yelling “Dad” 400 times a day. No, Dad gets left alone until it’s time to open jars or fix the Wi-Fi.
Here’s the kicker: half the time, they don’t even need anything. It’s just “Mom.” Like they’re testing to make sure I didn’t disappear into thin air. Sometimes I don’t answer on purpose, just to see what happens. Spoiler: nothing good. They escalate like tiny hostage negotiators. “Mom. Mom. MOM. MOOOOOM!” until finally I crack and yell, “WHAT?!” and then they’re like, “Oh, nothing.”
And don’t get me started on car rides. Trapped in the car with the “Mom” echo bouncing off the windows? Torture. I’ve seriously considered blasting the radio to drown it out. The record so far is 76 “Moms” between our house and Publix. I’m not kidding. I counted.
I know one day the house will be quiet, and no one will be calling me at all, and I’ll probably miss it. I’ll miss being needed this much, even if it makes me feel like I’m one “Mom” away from losing my mind. But right now? Right now, I daydream about disappearing into the bathroom for just five blessed minutes with no one knocking, no one yelling, no one saying my name like it’s their personal theme song.
So yeah, how many times can one child say “Mom” in an hour? Infinity. Forever. Endlessly. And if you need me, I’ll be hiding in the pantry with a bag of cookies, pretending my name is Susan.