There are new parents all around the world right now waiting with bated breath for their cute little baby to call them ‘Mummy’ or ‘Daddy’ for the first time. They wait and wait, desperate for that amazing communication milestone, after months of hard slog. And when it finally does happen, it is a heart-melting and beautiful moment.
And so it was for me: I welled up and I couldn’t stop smiling when my first babe said Mama. Little did I know what was to come. That precious little word is currently pushing me towards a minor breakdown.
Any new sound a baby discovers is repeated to death, as the it flexes it’s vocal chords. Then the fun really starts and they start saying it like they mean it. Dare to leave the room? Mama, Mama, Mama! They wants something but don’t know how to ask? Mama, Mama, uh, uh, uh! Sometimes I swear they do it just to wind you up.
This is pretty much where we are with Baby T right now. He has precious few words still (see my previous post about communication issues – there has been no noticeable improvement). But he doesn’t seem to care. Why bother learning new words when you can convey pretty much anything you wish with that one all-encompassing word yelled at volume?
This last week, T’s ‘Mama’ shouting has reached new levels. I know that, as child number three, he has to make himself heard but it is getting ridiculous. The most annoying thing about it is that he has taken to yelling it with such an upward inflection that he sounds for all the world like he is about to launch into a sentence and ask me the time or discuss the weather. But the rest of that sentence never comes. Just more of the same…. Mama, Mama, Mama….repeat to fade (or not, as the case may be – a fade would be a blessed release).
And he isnt the only one vying for my attention. I get bombarded by Mummys all day long from all three of the noisy little oiks. One day I may count the number of times that word crops up. It has to be in the hundreds and I think it currently pushes a thousand a day, because of T’s continuous Mama-babble.
It seems kind of wrong to say you wish your own kids would stop calling you Mummy endlessly but I really bloody do right now. To be honest, Baby T is driving me right up the wall. I’m sorry son, but shouting one word at the top of your lungs just doesn’t qualify as language. And why does it have to be that one word? Imagine someone calling your name endlessly all day and then, when you reply, they have absolutely nothing of any interest to say to you. Other than to shout your name again even louder, of course. Right in your face. Annoying, right?
I’ve tried shhhh-ing him, telling him to be quiet, whispering in the hope he will copy. He understands what I’m asking, he just doesn’t give a hoot. Which is all very well and good but I think he may be overlooking the fact that he is pushing me over the edge. Having exhausted all other options, I found myself shouting his name back at him the other day in desperation, to give him a taste of his own medicine. Yes, I know. Very immature and possibly pushing crazy but, as I said, he is nudging me towards madness with his endless Mamas. When I did this, he stopped for a moment of blissful silence, looked rather shocked and then laughed heartily. Fail.
As with all these things, it is just a phase, or so I keep reminding myself as I quietly rock and cradle my evening bucketful of calming wine. Soon, Baby T will have found another new way of driving me insane. Then we’ll be back into the low hundreds of Mummys per day, which may make being yelled at all day by three little voices mildly less challenging to endure.
We may even get some words soon too, other than Mama, bubble, go and uh-oh. Or we may not. At least not until T starts caring about being understood and stops being a little tyke who doesn’t give a damn about pleasing anyone, other than himself.
So, to all those parents of dear little pre-language babies, awaiting their first Mama and Dada from their little angels’ mouths, I will say this: enjoy the peace while you can. Yes it will be a wonderful moment, but it is also the opening of the flood gates. You may not think you will ever tire of hearing yourself called Mama or Dada, and perhaps you may not. But I have. I really, really have. And, before you judge me, remember that three small voices can make a big noise. And remember that you have not met my Baby T.