Say My Name
February 12, 2013
Noah called me 'Mama' until he started preschool. That child never once sat still for circle time or completed a craft project without protest — and I'm pretty sure his only interaction with most of his classmates involved throwing things at them — but he still managed to somehow absorb the message that 'Mama' was for babies. He was calling me 'Mommy' within a couple weeks.
Ezra never called me 'Mama.' I was 'Mommy,' right from the start.
I figured Ike would be the same, especially since he's been taking his sweet time in calling me ANYTHING. By the time he chose to acknowledge that I have a name, that I am a PERSON with FEELINGS beyond LADY WHO WHAT BRINGS ME ALL THE FOOD AND CHANGES MAH PANTS, I assumed he'd be past the 'ma-ma' pronounciation and would call me what he hears his brothers say. Christ, he calls Jason 'Dad' most of the time: He might very well just go straight to 'Mom.'
Such a small, stupid distinction, but I admit: I was bummed at the thought of never being 'Mama' again. I always wished Noah had stuck with it, like I always wish we were more Southern than we are. Not geoghraphically, but...more genteel. With bigger hair. Nicer manners, better shade-throwing skilla and less nasal-y accents. Mama. Bless y'all's hearts. Mommy is fine, but Mama is what my baby called me. And that's what made it so sweet and fleetingly special.
Tl;dr Ike calls me 'Mama."
For now, anyway. 'Mommy' and 'Mom' are right around the corner, and that's fine.
But oh, it is so nice to hear that word again from this tiny little person.