One Word Win

A few days ago, my little man started babbling "mamma".

This is not his first attempt at babbling. And it's not the first time he seems to be referring to me.

He has already been babbling a lot over the past few months. And a lot of that babbling resembled real words. And a lot of those real words resembled some way to name me.

Especially when he'd get upset and would need comfort, he would burst into powerful growls where, mostly likely by a mix of coincidence and wishful thinking, I could hear him calling out for me.

No.

The "mamma" he is chattering now is different. It is loud and clear. The letters sound confident and articulated, and they are pronounced deliberately, a distillate of purposefulness that he never seemed to hold before.

He has proven to know that this combination of sounds refers to me.

He chants it relentlessly before rushing into any space I occupy (And I mean any space. Not even the toilet holds any privacy once your child starts toddling around).

What he does not seem to know is where the word is supposed to end, or rather, whether it's supposed to end at all.

Therefore, I am currently "mammamammamamma[...]".

Very fitting, really.

After all, I am to him the almighty, all-powerful, giver of life, creator of food, and dispenser of magical pain-relieving kisses. And I like to think that he knows my love for him is unlimited.

It is, therefore, only logical that my name should be unlimited too.

"Soon he'll be calling out for you all day, and you will get fed up with this word!" My partner teased me. It doesn't seem that special to him.

I understand.

He's right.

It is not that special.

Most healthy kids start saying their first words around this age. And, for most of them, that first word is a variation of "mama", being "m" one of the easiest sounds in most languages.

I could brush this off. There are so many things to focus on. It's painful to admit that I wasn't ready to be a mother.

But then again, wait.

My little man is hitting a developmental milestone on time.

Let that sink in.

With our genetics, we are still on the fence about whether he'll turn out to be developmentally normal and fit well into society.

After all, he refused to roll from back to tummy (I know he can do it, I caught him doing it when he was alone! But he doesn't want to do it with us around). He refused to crawl. And every time we tried motivating him or assisting him in the movements, it turned into a battle that he won by overstimulating us with the power of his distressed crying.

He skipped those milestones and went straight to walking.

He found it funnier. Or maybe more challenging. Whatever the reasoning, he chose to go directly there, which partially relieved my guilt but left us wondering whether he would turn out normal or not.

His babbling also means that my little man loves me.

There had been a time when I was afraid that I was too much of a screw-up and we would not bond. He would laugh with his father and cry in my arms, and I felt like the worst failure. My sister used to remind me that we feel most comfortable being vulnerable around those we love the most. So he cried with me because he felt comfortable letting his emotions out around me.

I struggled believing it then, but it is much easier to believe it now that he's actively calling out for me.

And then there is a subtler but most meaningful win.

Almost imperceptible to the untrained ear: the gemination of that m.

Kids will refer to their parents by whatever name they hear the parents being called.

But we are a mixed family.

He heard me being called in many ways. Mainly "mama", "mom", and "mamma".

He had three languages to pick from, and he picked mine. Despite being bathed in his father's culture, despite everyone else speaking his father's language, his first word is in my language.

He accepted the culture I am offering him and with it, the family that is waiting to shower him with love, a few countries away.