Mila’s first word was “dada.”
Ok, it might have been “cup,” but she started using them almost simultaneously and has consistently favored “dada” over “cup,” so that’s what I’m sticking with.
For months, everything and everyone was “dada.” She would point at an object and say, “Dada.” She would get excited about things and squeal, “Dada!” She would wake up from naps and shout, “DADADADADA!” even when she knew Dada wasn’t home and wouldn’t be picking her up from her crib. On more than one occasion (when David was home) she actually saw me coming to get her and said, “No!” and hurried to the opposite corner of her crib to get away from me. Dada was her love and I was a poor substitute.
You may recall that for a long time, I was “nah nah,” which was her word for “anything I can eat.” She loved me for my boobs and that was enough for me at the time. Then we mostly stopped breastfeeding and I stopped being Nah Nah. I stopped being anything at all.
She learned to say car, ball, go, more, down, baby, and apple. Her vocabulary grew by leaps and bounds, and sure, a lot of her “words” don’t sound like much to anyone but me, but I understood what she was saying, and it sure wasn’t “mama.”
For months she refused to use my name. It’s not like she wasn’t capable of it. She figured out how to say “David,” for Pete’s sake, and knew who she was talking about, but “mama” just wasn’t happening.
One afternoon–one of those afternoons–I held her face and stared at her and said over and over again, “Mama. Mama. Mama.” She laughed at me and tried to headbutt my nose. I cried, and not just because of the headbutting.
I felt like she didn’t love me as much as she loved David. Heck, I just needed her to acknowledge that she knew who I was and that she liked me. I thought maybe if she would just call me Mama, all the time I spent as a stay-at-home mom might be worth it.
I’d look at her and see nothing but David. Both how much she adored him and how much she resembled him.
And much as I love David, it broke my heart just a little that despite being the primary caregiver, the kisser of owies, the maker of lunches, the reader of bedtime stories, the freaking giver of life, there was nothing of me in her. At least, not that I could see.
And then, finally, glorious day! Out of nowhere she pointed at me and said in the sweetest little voice, “Mama!” and toddled over to give me a hug.
I was right. It made everything worth it. Every single time I hear my name, I know I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to do right now. That this tiny person loves me. That all is right with the world.
And sometimes–just sometimes–she makes this face and I think, “Yep. There I am.”
“That’s my girl.”
Russell Family says
Aww. so sweet! I see you in her more than I see David! I don't know why but I do! And I am struggling with that too. Liv says dada and nana but she wont say mama. I guess she is still young and will grow more but still… I want her to say it!
Anna says
James was similar to that. It took him forever to learn mama. They teach us in linguistics classes that most cultures use "mama" for mom because it is something that babies easily/naturally say and imitate. However, I have noticed that most babies say dada first. I don't get it. ARGH. It is so nice when it happens though!!! James misses Mila and asks to go see her often. "Remember Mila? Go visit her!?" (Well, he actually says "him," but we're getting there…)