The Name Game
July 22, 2013
(I would like to apologize in advance for how disjointed and all over the place the following entry is. I kept getting distracted so it was written in about 15 different stops and starts and "wait, what was I talking abouts?")
(This is all Kate Middleton's fault, OBVIOUSLY.)
Ike had one of those awesome little toddler language explosions on Friday. I mean, he literally woke up Friday morning and started stringing all sorts of new words together. Or maybe the words weren't new, but the fact that they sounded like actual words and not like, AGGLE GUH FUFFFUFF? MUH HUBLA? was pretty exciting.
(Especially because prior to Friday, his language development was semi-officially starting to lag for a two year old. I had one speech-delayed toddler and one who spoke in paragraphs. Ike's so far managing to skate right through the middle at a completely different pace, just to prove to me that I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ANYTHING.)
"I'm full," Ike suddenly said, 10 minutes into a nice lunch out with me and Noah. "Go home."
(Ezra was enjoying his final day of Superhero camp at the YMCA [*bites knuckles*] and we'd just gotten Noah his first big-kid, non-shaggy-bowl haircut. He picked it out himself. It requires POMADE. And STYLING. God HELP ME.)
(It's now basically Jason's hair on a blond-ish mini-Jason person.)
(Meanwhile, Ezra's hair is nearing the bottom of his eyeballs. His mother should really do something about that.)
(NEVER. NEVER NEVER NEVER.)
Anyway, I mention the language explosion not SOLELY to be a parentbraggy asshole (and yet...), but mostly because tragically, awfully, heart-through-the-meat-grindery, it appears that "Mama" is now a thing of the past. For real and good this time.
Ike's "Mamas" were the best Mamas, for the record — he said it ver.y. clear.ly and spe.cif.ically, with a little high-pitched, baby-voiced staccato. "Hereyougo, Ma MA?" he'd say whenever he handed me something, emphasizing the last syllable like a question and I don't know why but it killed me. It killed me every time he said it. Ma MA? Ma MA. Ma MA!
What's even worse, Ike has decided to springboard right over "Mommy" and now calls me "Mom." I do not approve.
"Mom!" he says, "MOM MOM MOM."
He's so PROUD of himself that it's almost infuriating. I can't be mad, I can't not respond to it, I can't bring myself to pout and try to guilt-trip him back into Mama. I tried to convince Noah and Ezra to at least go back to Mommy for a little bit for peer pressure reasons, but they were all, "Woman, plz. Go get us some damn juice."
(They didn't really say that. It was more of a combination of eyerolls, vacant stares and studious ignoring. Moms, amirite?)
(Oh, how I will miss being Mama. Everybody go record your baby saying it right now, because POOF. Gone.)