From Mama to Hey Ma: The Evolution of a Name

I begged and pleaded for months for Chloe to say “mama.”  “Say mama.”  “Say mama.”  “Can you say mama?”  For months, nothing.  Then finally one day while out to dinner I thought I’d heard her say “mama” as she reached for me from across the table.  “DID YOU HEAR THAT?!” I yelled.  Had anyone else heard those sweet words?  She wanted her mama.  She needed her mama.  It sounded glorious. 

My Mom would always tell me not to worry.  I would be hearing those words soon enough.  And often.  This was coming from the woman who has been through every stage of motherhood from "mama" to "hey ma."  I should trust her.  I do trust her.  But I still wanted to hear my title – the title I earned through 37.5 weeks of pregnancy and 23 hours of labor – validated through the lips of my own daughter. 

Mama.  It was worth the wait.  But "mama" is a rookie title.  “Mama” means you probably do not know what the hell you are doing 99% of the time.  (Maybe that never changes.)  Mamas think it is stressful to take one tiny baby who is sleeping peacefully in her car seat out to dinner.  Mamas call the pediatrician once a week and their own mothers seven times a week.  Mamas buy new purses based on their capacity to hold a bottle, diaper, wipes, and change of clothes.  Mamas cannot have a normal conversation about anything other than poop consistency, swaddling, and ounces of milk.  

The thing is that mama lasts for just a short time. 

What I mean is that just last weekend Chloe was playing in the living room when all of a sudden she came sprinting toward me in the dining room.  “Mommy, mommy, mommy,” she yelled.  I couldn’t believe it.  Mommy?  I was puzzled.  Where had she learned to call me by that name?  When had she decided she would start calling me mommy?  And why?  Had I moved on to the next phase of motherhood ?  I hadn’t expected to receive a promotion so soon.  After all, I haven’t seen a qualifications list.  I didn’t even receive my annual review.

Maybe there are clear signs that show I am ready to be “mommy.”  Maybe one of the first requirements is learning that bribery is an important part of every day life.  Let’s not call it bribery.  If I were a politician I would call it a reward system.  Somehow “rewarding” your child with a grape if she puts her coat on feels far more spectacular than begging, pleading, and eventually forcing the damn thing on her body. 

For some reason my pride is undamaged if I suggest she does something I know damn well she is going to do no matter what.  “Chloe, if you get in your car seat I will let you play in the car when we get home.  You can beep the horn.  Beep , beep.”   The whole time she’s thinking, “ummm, yeah lady I was going to do that anyway, but sure, point for you.  Wink, wink.” 

Perhaps one of the requirements is that you no longer have the natural instinct to ensure six different times that your child is breathing during the night.  No, you are too busy making sure your child isn’t opening the back gate to make a break for the road.  You are too busy peeling her off of the counter top where she is attempting to touch the knives.  Too busy making her spit out pennies, dirt, crayons, and toothpaste.

Maybe being a mommy is realizing that your child is becoming independent.  She has her own thoughts and preferences, and she doesn't want to be told what to do all day.  So maybe you just let her wear a pink tutu and no shirt one day, because that is what she wants to wear.  And then maybe you let her, in her pink tutu, *gasp* eat Lucky Charms while watching Dora.  Because, who cares?  That is what I would want to do.  Hell, maybe you let her do it once per week, because not even locking your keys in your car in the freezing cold can bring you down from the high you felt that morning when your child was perfectly happy.

Maybe you let her wear her frog coat whenever she damn well pleases.  Pants optional.

 Maybe you let her play in the leaves even if you aren't 100% sure they are dog poop free.

Maybe you let her eat a ring pop while running around the house.

Maybe you trust her to hang from the edge of the pool all by herself.

The more I think about it the more I realize I am ready to be "mommy."  It is a great reminder that my little baby is not so much a baby anymore.  I realize that the next phase will be here in the blink of an eye.  Mom.  Shortly after that will come the dreaded "hey ma."  I don’t know exactly when it will happen, but I can’t help but wonder what I’ll be doing differently at the time.