Pea is not a baby anymore. Nor a toddler. Her age group is referred to as “preschooler.” That’s a mouthful. And anyway, in my eyes, my little Pea is a kid. Not a preschooler. But a bona fide kid.

She calls me mom. Mom. As in, “thanks, mom.” What happened to mommy? I miss those days.

As she grows, she’s turning into quite the social butterfly. She wants to know, every morning, what’s on the docket for the day. Ballet? Playdate? School day? Skiing? Where are we going? What are we doing?

And while I am enjoying having a little more slack opened up on that leash that has been connecting Pea to her mommy (excuse me, mom) for the last nearly-four years, I am having some bittersweet moments, too.

My husband thinks it’s absurd that I should already be worrying about what’s going to happen when she’s off on her own, falls in love with the man who will become her husband, and once wed, sets out for greener pastures in which to raise her own family. Greener pastures being, of course, across the country from me. Her mommy. Her mom.

I miss her already. So much it hurts. And I know, it’s ridiculous to waste any time thinking about those days ahead. But I’m guessing it’s a mother thing? Right? It has to be. Because I cannot be the only woman – mother – out there who is thinking about the path ahead. The path that might some day lead her child away from her? Right?

Anyway, we’re forging ahead with new family traditions. Building fond memories that will find our girls seated at their own dining room tables, with their small children sitting across from them, over supper. Music in the background, laughing at the stories of life in their home growing up, with Grandma and Grandpa. The nightly pushing-away of the great room coffee table, for the post-dinner family disco-dance. To Pea’s song. “Dancing Queen.” Yes, she’s an ABBA fan. Aren’t we all? If not? We should be. But I digress. That’s one of our new traditions. Dancing. I did it with my mother, and now my girls are doing it with me. Leaving the dirty dishes on the table, heading into the great room, pushing the coffee table into the corner, turning on ABBA at full-blast, and dancing until we drop. And on nights when Daddy is home, he boogies down at the Family Disco, too. In fact, we’ve all come to look forward to that short time, post-dinner, pre-bed, when we get to burn off the last of our energy; sing at the top of our lungs and do the Hustle.

Good times.

And now, I’m preparing for… Family Game Night.

I’ve been waiting for this night. For a long, long time. It’s been something of a dream of mine. Kind of a simple girl, that way. It doesn’t really take much.

Yup, we’ve played a little Candy Land here and there. But I’m looking for more. Uno! Operation! Chutes & Ladders! Life! Monopoly! Hungry Hungry Hippos! Twister! I just want them all, those games of my own childhood. Stacked up neatly in the family room closet. And then, come Thursday night, it’s… Pizza! Popcorn! Games!

And we’re so close now. The way these girls are morphing – before our eyes – into people. We are so close to Family! Game! Night!