Why You Wanna be Like That?

My wife finally, after about two years, got a job. A real, honest-to-goodness, 40 hours per week, health benefits included, job. Great, congratulations. So, while she's been off playing Crazy Joe at Eastside High, I've been playing Mr Mom. Waking with the Amish, making breakfast, lunch and dinner (and actually cooking all three), making trips to WalPurgis-Mart and Th' Eagle, getting smiled at by ladies who look at me like I'm going to steal their purses and drown their kids at the same time regardless of the fact that I'm 'with child' myself, and learning that the best time for a nap is right after lunch and for as long as possible. Which is why it's all the more disheartening for me to slowly come to the realization that my wife has a nickname. All day long as I cook, clean, shop and entertain I get to hear, "Where's Mo-ma?" That's right, "Where's Mo-ma?" Not "Thanks, Dad" or "I love you, Dad" or "Dad you rock and I don't know what me and mom would have done for the last two years if you hadn't kept slogging away at your job while at the same time giving up your guitar and your mountain biking and your dreams of traveling while still in your thirties." Nope. None of that. Just over and over, "Where's Mo-ma?" I think I may have to re-evaluate my relationship with daughter.