When she really wants something, The Boss calls me by my name.
"Bink! Binky! Biiiiiiiiinky!"
She sits in her high chair and bangs on the tray as she imitates her father. I mean, that has to be where she got it from. He's the one who says my name on a regular basis in her presence. As it happens, it's usually when he wants something, too. Or when he's annoyed. Or when he finds it hard to believe that something I said actually came out of my mouth. "In a withering tone" is the best way to describe the most common utterance of my identifier around these parts.
"Binky!" Today The Boss called me out at the supermarket when I strayed too far from her in search of a plastic bag for the chicken. "Bink. Bink. Binky." She stared at me from her perch in the front of the cart, looking all baby blond and munching on a cookie. "Binky!" she repeated, in between bites.
Call me narcissistic, but there is nothing cuter than hearing my daughter say my name. "Mommy" is well and good, but listening to her fledgling spin on the word I've heard every day for my entire life is even better. Emphasizing the "b" and the "k," the word rolls off her tongue like a bubble, then pops. "Biiiin-ky!"
I know I should set clear boundaries. I should discourage her from using non-mom designations. But, really. It's just too damn cute. So I let her get away with it.
Besides, I don't have to worry what other people think. They just assume she wants her pacifier.