Should I Let My Nephew Call Me Mom? A Caregiver’s Real Experience and Practical Tips
The spaghetti sauce was dripping down Leo’s wrist when he dropped his fork, looked up at me across the kitchen table, and said, “Mom, can you pass me a clean one?” I froze mid-bite of garlic bread. It had been three months since I’d taken Leo in full-time while my sister finished rehab for opioid use, and up until that Tuesday dinner, he’d never called me anything but Aunt Marnie.
We’d talked about this before my sister checked in. We’d sat on her couch, Leo coloring between us, and agreed that I was just Auntie while mom got better. I was supposed to correct him if he slipped up, right? I’d even practiced what I’d say in my head, soft but firm: I’m Aunt Marnie, remember? But that night, he went pink around the ears as soon as the word left his mouth, and stared at his lap like he’d broken a rule. I pushed the clean fork across the table and said, “Sure thing, kiddo.” No correction, no big speech. Just dinner.
That night I laid awake, going over it. I texted my cousin Liza, who works as an elementary school counselor, at 11 p.m. just to ask what I should have done. I didn’t expect a long answer, just a quick take. The next morning she called, and what she said changed how I thought about the whole thing.
I’ve been the cool aunt for years, the one who let him stay up late eating popcorn and watch bad animated movies when my sister needed a night out. I never thought I’d be the one buying him new sneakers when he outgrew his old ones, arguing with him about brushing his teeth before bed, or sitting in the dentist’s waiting room while he got a cavity filled. But that’s what life is right now. After the second time he called me mom, at his soccer practice when he scraped his knee running for a goal, I decided I wasn’t going to keep ignoring it. We stopped for blue popsicles on the drive home, and I asked him, easy, no pressure: “I noticed you’ve called me mom a couple times lately. Does that just feel right for you sometimes?”
He licked popsicle drips off his hand and shrugged, said “Yeah. When everyone yells for their mom at practice, it just comes out. And sometimes when I’m really sad or really hurt, I forget she’s not here right now.” No big drama, just a kid telling the truth.
Liza told me that adults overthink titles way more than kids do. For an elementary-aged kid, words like mom or dad aren’t just a label for a biological parent. They’re the word for the person who does the everyday caring: the one who packs the snack you like, kisses scraped knees, shows up every single morning to make breakfast. When a kid is in a transition period—whether that’s a parent away for treatment, a divorce, a death, or any other big change—using that title is just their way of feeling safe. It doesn’t mean they’re replacing their parent, it means they’re trying to make sense of a messy, confusing new routine.
She gave me three small things to do that weren’t scary or hard. First, never correct a kid harshly in front of other people. Shaming them for saying something that feels true to them just makes them stop feeling safe with you. If it’s a public moment, just let it go, and talk about it later when it’s just the two of you. Second, if the title makes you uncomfortable, you can set a gentle boundary that doesn’t shut them down. Instead of saying “I’m not your mom, stop calling me that,” you can say “I love that you feel safe with me, and I love being your Aunt Marnie best. Can you call me that for me?” It gives you space to feel what you feel, without making the kid wrong for needing safety. Third, if the child’s parent is still in their life, always be honest and check in with them first. Don’t hide that the kid is calling you that, don’t make it a secret. That just creates tension no one needs.
So I did that. When my sister had her weekly check-in call from rehab, I brought it up right away. I said “Leo’s called me mom a few times lately. I didn’t correct him because he was already embarrassed, but I wanted to ask how you feel about it. Whatever you want, I’ll do.” She was quiet for a minute, then cried a little. She said she was scared Leo would forget her, that he’d choose me over her. But then she said she also knows I’m not trying to take her place, and if it helps him not be scared every night while she’s gone, it’s okay.
We made a small plan after that, to keep my sister present every day, even when Leo uses the mom title for me. We keep a big photo of her on the fridge, we draw her a picture every week to send in the mail, we FaceTime every Sunday after breakfast, and I talk about her all the time, even the small stuff. Last week when Leo got a good grade on his spelling test, I said “Wait till you tell mom on Sunday, she’s gonna be so proud.” We still have the stuffed fox she gave him the night before she left, and I remind him every night that mom sewed his paw back on when it ripped.
Right now, it’s messy. Some days he calls me Aunt Marnie all day, some days he calls me mom every other sentence. Last week at my grandma’s birthday, an old family friend heard him call me mom and did that slow, wide-eyed look, and I just shrugged. It’s none of her business what works for us.
I don’t know what’s going to happen when my sister gets out next month. Maybe Leo will slip back to calling me Aunt Marnie full time once she’s home, maybe he’ll still call me mom sometimes when he’s tired or upset. Maybe my sister will feel differently about it once she’s back, even if she says she’s okay now. We’ll figure that out when we get there. Right now, the most important thing is that a 7-year-old kid feels safe when he goes to bed at night. That’s the part that matters, not what anyone thinks the title should be.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Should I Let My Nephew Call Me Mom