Before, it was “dada”… all the time. “Dada” for water, for this, for that, for car, for mama and for baba. I used to make the other mothers at the park uncomfortable when they’d compare how brilliant their “eieio” singing babies were to my one consonant baby by saying, “Oh, she only says ‘dada’ which is too bad because we don’t have one.”
We don’t have a “dada.” We have a “baba” and I know that he’s over the moon at how much she repeats his name, calls him and obsesses over him. And it’s not just random repetition or testing a new sound. She begs for “baba,” implores “baba,” sweetly calls “baba,” and exclaims, “baba!” Every. minute. until. his. return.
No, I’m not in the least bit jealous.
We had a brief “mama” phase. Very brief when compared to how much she’s called for “baba” over the last 48 hours. I know it’s because she sees me all the time and is reassured that I will always be there for her if she needs me. It’s also about time that she becomes enamored with her baba — they both need the exposure and love playing with each other. Baba however, is away for 8 hours, and when he comes home he has that cool, nonchalant way of interacting. While I’ve been “on” for 12 hours: singing, playing, jumping, throwing, carrying, feeding, chasing, cleaning, bouncing, nursing. Rinse and repeat ad nauseum.
He just has to smile and give a pat on the head for all to be right in the universe.