Jake

This morning I woke Jude up to get him ready for a day at the babysitters. He got up, looked around and said..."Where's Jake?". Yes our two year old is on a first name basis with his father. A while back he would call me Delilah. Sometimes he would call me Aunt Delilah. Once he called me Mrs. Miller. But now he calls me mom or mommy and he calls Jake...Jake. It isn't really an "once in a while" thing. He calls him Jake just about every time he address is father. I keep telling him he needs to call him daddy and Jake has even resorted to ignoring him but he just says JAKE louder. I used to know this girl, Christine Wosniak, who told me she was on a first name basis with her parents. I thought it was kinda cool...in a wierd sorta way. And I honestly don't really mind Jude calling us by our first names, after all, other kids do, right? But I think it bothers Jake. I guess it looks like Jude is growing up to be a rebel like his mommy...or should I say, Delilah???? I don't follow rules very well and I guess I never did. I never really saw the harm in it. And for the most part, I still don't. It's not like I was out hurting other people. Seriously, why can't you wink at the camera when you are getting your drivers license picture? And was I really harming anyone by wearing those "combat boots" with a flowery dress? And was it bad to go out with a guy I met when I dialed the wrong phone number? He was a DOCTOR and I took a friend with me to meet him in public place. Nose rings (and other piercings) didn't ruin my character. And guess what I have eaten in a restraunt by myself and...hold on for this. I have even been to a movie by myself. Yes I shaved half of my head (the bottom half at that...sorry mom). And I have had an assortment of colors in my hair (including green - on accident). And I did go skinny dipping with my sisters entire wedding party, in Lake Erie, in October in the middle of the night (at least it was dark). I did try to get Jake fired on his first day of work (I was just flirting...duh). And when I was 31, I got a tattoo. I haven't always been a good friend and I know I was a nightmare for my mother. I actually brought home a guy that had his entire head shaved save the pony tail that was half way down his back. He had piercings and was wearing boots that laced up to his knees, a t-shirt with holes and another t-shirt saftey pinned to the bottom like it was a skirt. My poor mom. Man, this list could go on and on. I have always...and I mean always (yes, when I was three and my mom took me to church, during the prayer, instead of praying I had both hand fully submerged in the little boy's (who was sitting in front of us) afro - massaging his head!) walked to the beat of my own drummer. And now my little boy is telling me he is going to be the same. Please say a prayer for me. I am going to need it. Right, Jake...I mean daddy.