A Mom Called Honey

A lesson in asking before correcting.

Kiddo calls me honey.

He has called me honey for a while now. In addition to his repertoire of other names. But this one was different from the garden variety of mom names. 

Honey. Just honey. Like I am his person and that is the word he chose for his person and that is that.

Dad was not a fan.

You don’t say that. Moms and dads say that to each other. You don’t say that to mom.

I never corrected it. It took him so long to find words. Every word he adds to his vocabulary is a win and I am not in the business of taking wins away. I didn’t know why he chose that word and I didn’t want to make him feel bad for choosing it. There is nothing wrong with the word honey. It is a perfectly good word. A sweet word, even. And he said it with such specific intention every single time that I figured there was a reason and the reason was his and I was going to let him keep it.

I just never thought to ask what the reason was until the other night.

I was giving him a bath. One of those quiet moments where his brain slows down enough to actually talk and I have learned to treat those moments like they are made of glass because they are.

Hey babe. Why do you call me honey?

He didn’t hesitate.

Because that means you’re my life.

I want you to sit with that for a second.

He didn’t pick the word because he heard it somewhere and thought it was funny. He didn’t pick it because he was confused about what it meant. He picked it because in his brain honey means you are my life and I am the person he wanted to say that to.

Dad heard the word and judged it by what it means to adults. Which is reasonable. That is what adults do. We hear a word and we apply the meaning we already have for it and we respond accordingly.

But nobody asked why.

Nobody said hey. That’s an interesting word to use. What does that mean to you.

We just went straight to you don’t say that.

And what we almost took away was a kid’s very specific and very pure way of telling his mom that she is his whole life. In a word he chose himself. That meant something only to him. That he gave to me.

I am not taking that word from him.

I don’t care what it means to anyone else. I don’t care if it sounds weird. I don’t care if it makes people uncomfortable or confused or whatever else.

He chose it. It means something. And the something it means is so far beyond what anyone assumed that the assumption should be embarrassing in retrospect.

Kids are not small confused adults mispronouncing the world. Sometimes they are using the exact right word for the exact thing they mean and we are just too busy correcting them to find out what that is.

Ask first. Correct never. Or at least not until you know what you’re actually correcting.

Because the word that he chose means you’re my life and it is not something I am editing out of my son’s vocabulary.

Not now. Not ever.

Not bad for a Tuesday.