In the interests of getting this blog up and running, I'm going to post some stories I wrote when Aiden was little. Well, littler, anyway. So here it is, the first post in Mommyland...
THE FIRST WORD
As with all new parents, I was eagerly awaiting my son Aiden’s first word. He was 10 months old, and I assumed that since he was obviously a genius, it would be coming any day. After months of adorable, pointless blabbering, I couldn’t wait until he opened his little mouth and blurted out “Mama.” I knew that the joy I would feel at hearing my newly acquired (and now favorite) title being spoken by my little angel, who absorbed 110% of my time, would be unmatched. The anticipation was killing me, when would he say it? When would he speak my name?
One evening my husband Chris and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV. Aiden was playing on the floor, jabbering on and on in his indecipherable baby language. Chris was trying to get his attention, and was being steadfastly and purposely ignored.
“Aiden,” I said to him, “Where’s Daddy?” At that moment, the unthinkable occurred. Aiden looked up at me, pointed to Chris and said, “Dada!”
Total silence enveloped the room.
As if in slow motion, I see Chris’ face light up. All that joy that was supposed to be mine first, shown on his face like a beacon. “Did you hear him??” he asked (rather loudly, what, did he think I was deaf?). “He said Dada!!”
“Yeah, I heard,” My complete lack of enthusiasm was not infectious as Chris enveloped Aiden in a bear hug accompanied by a cascade of cute baby giggles.
How could this have happened? What twist of cosmic events had allowed such a travesty to occur? Dada is his first word? Dada? Had I not been the one to endure what surely could be called mountains of poopy diapers? Had I not been the one to take care of all those midnight feedings and all those “I don’t care that it’s 3 in the morning, I just want to be up” times? Wasn’t it me who had caught most of the spit-up with my shirt, pants, hands or other body parts? It wasn’t fair!
Of course, he is a boy. He’s supposed to be ornery. Never mind that his mother is the one who carried him for 9 long months, the one whose ribs were kicked from the inside and whose feet swelled up to the size of what felt like watermelons. Never mind 21 hours of labor and delivery. Daddy is his favorite toy. What a little punk. Dada, my butt.
Aiden realized the effect his new word had on his Daddy, and proceeded to repeat it over and over again, much to the amazement and delight of my husband. I shook my head and thought to myself, “He’s only 10 months old, and already I’m taken for granted.” Such is the calling of motherhood, I suppose.
That night as I lay in bed (Chris snoring next to me, his world now complete), I thought about that first word. I thought about the wonderment that is my child and realized that my son spoke. He spoke. He communicated his thoughts through language. Clearly, at that. What an amazing accomplishment! Not just for him, but also for Chris and I. It meant we weren’t failing as parents; our son was growing and learning things he would need to know as a human person! It didn’t matter what he said, it was the fact that he spoke at all that was important. As I experienced this moment of clarity, I realized something else as well. I was thrilled beyond measure. Aiden had reached a milestone, and I was lucky enough to have witnessed it.
He did eventually say “Mama”, and I was filled with that joy I knew I would feel. There is just one problem.
He won’t stop saying it.
