Oh my god.
Did I seriously every TRY to get him to say it?
These days it is so continual, it’s like a soundtrack.
Actually, it IS a soundtrack– he sings it. Like, to the tune of ANYthing.
Twinkle twinkle (Ma ma, ma ma, ma ma maaa…)
Row your boat (Ma, ma, ma ma ma, ma ma ma ma maaaa)
Last night, he called to me from in the tub, indignant at the thoroughly inadequate amount of water his dad had filled it with (you could barely swim in it!), and he was dissatisfied with my response time, so he began hollering a deconstructed version.
“Mm, uh, mm, uh! Mm, uh, mm, uh!!”
To be fair, he does call for and request help from Daddy quite often too. But somehow, there does not seem to be the steady backdrop of “Daddy daddy” the same way.
Mama mama mama mama mama mama mama
What is it, buddy?
I see your picture! Wow, lots of blue, my favorite…
You can have a cookie after dinner…
I don’t know where that is, let’s look…
I’m cooking dinner, I can read more Mr Poppers Penguins later…
Ok, that’s fine, just go ahead and go to the bathroom…
Mama ma ma mama ma mama
Sometimes I truly long for a place in the house that’s mine, just mine. Such a place would have a window facing east toward the hills, a desk or table or heck, a shelf, that wasn’t covered with stuff, just a plant, maybe. And this place would have a door. Oh, yes, it would have a door.
Mama mama mama ma ma mamama mama mama
I’d go into this place and just take a deep breath, and stare at the hills and remember about quiet, and I’d remember that intense longing to hear my name from that tiny little guy, and I’d remember how fast and short and unique this time and space is to be his go-to, his fixer of dinners and decider of cookie-havings and hugger-away-of-tears…his mama, ma ma mama.