I remember when Tahlia started calling Mommy Mama. I know that you probably are thinking it was a beautiful moment, a moment to cherish. It is a moment that is forever etched in our memories.
It was a long time ago, and Tahlia has now moved well past calling Mommy Mama. It was when she was around nine months old. Mommy and I were at our wits end because attempting to help Tahlia to go to sleep was always a marathon that involved rocking, walking, and bouncing. Hours and hours of seemingly endless hours were spent in an attempt to help her fall asleep. Much of that time was spent holding a crying child, a child who we just wanted to be at peace, and we seemed unable to give that to her. In the end, we decided to follow a fade out approach in which Mommy and I would allow Tahlia to cry for a few minutes, and then slowly add minutes to the few that we had waited the last time. Within four days there was no more crying.
It sounds great, but it was a little difficult (Mommy would disagree and say that it was extremely difficult). It was around this time that we were given a wonderfully horrible gift. It really was wonderful . . . it was a Summer video monitor. The reason it is amazing is that, after your child begins falling asleep, you are allowed to see your little angel sleeping peacefully through night vision goggles. However, before that, you are allowed the view of a child who wants her Mama and Dada. Yes, not Mommy and Daddy. Mama and Dada. On too many occasions we watched as our little girl held onto her crib rungs, swinging back and forth, screaming and crying for "Mama."
"Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama."
Suddenly, the sounds Mommy loved to hear became toxic. But, after four eternal days, she no longer called out and that Summer video monitor just showed us the cherubim sleeping.
But Mama passed and was replaced by Mommy. When at first Mommy was called, anything was given. Those sweet sounds of "Mommy," filled Mommy with such love that she was putty in this child's hand.
And a year passed, and Mommy and Daddy were no longer just our names to her, but to each other. When I would need something, no longer would I ask by Mommy's given name, but would ask "Mommy" to bring a soda for me, or a bagel.
Recently, Tahlia received a book from Nona about the sea shore. It quickly became one of her favorites. The book does not only have the child find various animals and crustaceans found in the ocean, but there are also treasures such as bracelets and rings that can be found.
On one page, there is a heart locket with an engraved letter. It is the letter that starts Mommy's first name. I asked Tahlia whose locket it was one time while reading the book. Not really thinking, I said that it was Mommy's.
"Why it Mommy's locket, Daddy?"
"Because it starts Mommy's name."
"Daddy. You teasing me."
I make a split second decision. "Really Tahlia. Mommy's name is ___________."
"Why Mommy's name ___________."It sounds like a foreign word coming off of her lips. It sounds surreal. It holds no meaning to me because she is simply saying a word that really has no attahed meaning, after all, Mommy's name to Tahlia is Mommy.
"Well, that is that name that her Mommy and Daddy decided to give her." I continue with an explanation about if she believes that Mya calls her Mommy Rene or if she calls her Mommy Mommy. She doesn't believe me initially, but I guess, after talking about a few of her friends, it begins to make sense and when I ask her about Esme, she states that Esme most likely calls her Mommy Mommy.
The next day, Mommy, after the kids are in bed, is shocked. She relates the story of Tahlia, while reading the seashore book, suddenly turned to her and said, "Mommy, you're ___________."
Mommy, because I didn't tell her anything about the night before, is shocked. How is it possible, she wonders that Tahlia has any idea what her name is.
While retelling this experience to me, I tell her about the night before, and it all makes sense. I was a little surprised that she held the idea with her for so long. But she seems to do that more often than not now.
And we still love to hear her call me Daddy, and Mommy, Mommy. Recently she has been doing the run-up-and-grab-my-legs-thing while saying, "I love you Daddy." Hearing our names doesn't get any better than that.
Which brings me to dinner two nights ago. We are finishing up and decide to see who she wants to put her to bed. If we don't ask now, there is the possibility that right in the middle of putting her down, she could decide that Daddy shouldn't put her down but Mommy should. When this happens, I wait out the crying and curse myself for not thinking to ask earlier, and forgoing all of the crying. The down side of this is that this question usually means that Mommy has to put two children down, but it does open up some time for Daddy to clean up the house prior to Mommy coming downstairs. Not necessarily a win win, but at least a tie-tie.
So we ask Tahlia, "Hey honey, who do you want to put you to bed tonight."
We expect Mommy. We expect Daddy. What we don't expect is, "That person," which she says as she jerks her thumb towards Mommy. As the sense of humour in our house is rich, we both begin laughing.
I smile, "Who is that?"
She smiles too, "Mommy."
"What is her name," I'm just curious if she will remember.
"___________." she says so sweetly, and again, although I hear the sounds come out of her mouth, they mean nothing. It is as if the white noise from Asher's noise maker interrupt the sounds as they flit past her teeth.
Again, I'm curious, "What is Daddy's name?" There is no way she has an answer to this one. We haven't even gone over it.
"___________." And she says my name. I've never heard it before from her lips.
But, even as she states our given names, they are not our names to her. Our friends call us by those names. Our coworkers do too. Neighbors and family all recognize us as these names given to us from the beginning. But they are not our names to her. They are foreign sounds on a non-native's tongue.
But we relish in those sounds.
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