As mommas, we get pregnant and experience the joys – but many more pains – of being pregnant.
We go into labor and experience the excitement – but much, much more pain – of being in labor.
We have the baby and experience the highs – and many lows – of being a mother.
I know I’m blessed to have my child and god knows I love him more than my typed words can ever truly express. I know I’m lucky to have gotten to experience the magic of pregnancy and a natural birth.
But why why why has my son been babbling “da da” for months and has only mumbled a “mmm” a few times?
He even knows the dog’s name! He’ll point at her and say, “NnnnA!” (The second half of “Mona.”)
Is it too much to ask that he says “Momma”? I know a linguist will tell you that the “da” sound comes easier than the “ma” sound. I know just about anyone will tell you that when he points at my husband and says “da da,” it doesn’t necessarily mean he knows that David is called “Daddy.”
But it makes me wonder if god hates women.
My husband is absolutely wonderful, and I am so thankful that I have him.
But … the mommas do so much of the work! We go through all the ups and downs of motherhood only to watch our children clap and run toward daddy with their “da-das.”
Then when we coax them with “Say mmmmoommmmma,” they grin and say “da da.”
Doesn’t my child know how hard I worked to get pregnant, stay pregnant and survive pregnancy? Doesn’t he realize what a literal pain in the you-know-what it is to labor with a baby who is posterior for 27 hours and who refuses to come out no matter how hard you are pushing for three of those hours?
Doesn’t he know the struggle it was to breastfeed him for nine months? That I was the one who woke up with him every night at all times of night to feed him? I had to pump breastmilk at work and I barely escaped not one but TWO male co-workers unlocking my office door while I was pumping because they couldn’t hear me saying “I’m in here, I’m in here!!!” And doesn’t he know how guilty I felt that I could only breastfeed him for nine months when my goal was at least a year?
Doesn’t he know how I homemade all his first solid foods because I wanted to be sure he had only the best, healthiest food? How about how many times I cried right along with him when he was upset and I couldn’t fix it? Or the times I rushed home from work because I knew he was having a rough day with the nanny or at daycare and he just needed his momma?
And don’t even get me started on the fact that I washed every load of those cloth diapers because I wanted what was best for his bottom and the earth. It was MOMMA who washed all his clothes and coated each one with stain remover because they were covered with spit-up and other stuff. And it was MOMMA who went into work nearly every day with spit-up or the other stuff all over her clothes.
MOMMA was the one who held him during all his shots. MOMMA was there when he had multiple respiratory infections and he could only sleep in her arms if she was sitting upright on the couch.
Doesn’t he know that momma has sacrificed and will continue to sacrifice for him until the day she dies? Doesn’t he know that momma is always going to put him first above absolutely everything else?
Momma is the one who thinks about him all day, every day. Momma is the one who gets in her car and gets so excited to pick him up from day care that she curses slow drivers under her breath.
And all MOMMA asks for in return is to hear her beautiful baby say her name.
I guess that’s just one more sacrifice we make as mommas. And I know he’ll say it some day and it will be wonderful.
But if he learns any Michigan football players’ names before mine, this kid and I are going to have to have a conversation.