Dada? No, Mama.

Sean: Dada.  Dada.  Dada!  Dada!

 

Me: Oh, baby.  Dada isn’t here right now.  But Mama is!

 

Sean: (Grabs my hand to lead me to what he wants) Dada.

 

Me: No, Mama.  I’m Mama.

 

Sean: Dada?

 

Me: Mmmaaaaammmaa.

 

Sean: Dada!

 

Ok.  Listen, kid.  You’re adorable.  If your father was here, this would melt his heart.  Heck, it’s even pulling on my heart strings.  But I WILL NOT ANSWER TO DADA.  I can’t.  I can try, but it won’t work.  You see, it’s like this.  I carried you for nine, almost ten, months.  You were heavy.  I had horrible morning sickness and acid reflux.  You grew until I had no room in me.  Then after you were born, I was the one who fed you, changed you, rocked you, sang to you, read to you, bathed you.  Not dada, mama.  You ate tons.  I sacrificed hours to feed you.  When you were sick, that was me taking care of you.  Who held you and cooed to you as you got stitches?  Mama, not dada.  Who held you when you got shots?  Mama, not dada.  Who cooks you your favorite meals?  Mama, not dada.  Who buys all the gifts, wakes up with you early in the morning, repeatedly reties the shoes your dada picked out?  Mama.  It’s not like we even look the same.  I’m taller, thinner, and have a better pair of breasts.

 

Sean: Dada.

 

Me: Mama.

 

Sean: Dada.

 

Me: Mama.

 

Sean: Dada.

 

Me: Mama.

 

Sean: Dada.

 

Me: Mama.

 

Sean: Dada.

 

Me: Mama.

 

Sean: Mama!

 

Me: (hugging him tight) Good job!  Now let’s get you a cookie.

 

 

Vote for my post on Mom Blog Network

Ba-banana and Two-wallies

Nothing is cuter than toddlers trying to parrot the words their parents are saying.  I’ve read several blogs were little toddlers have learned to say Obama and McCain.  We all know children whose way of saying a word pulled at our heart strings to the point that we will never forget.  I feel that Evan has had very few of those words, or maybe I just forgot them and now that I’m writing I can pick out Sean’s.  Sean has several cute words right now.  My favorite is “ba-ba,” which means brother, Evan.  Of course, Evan doesn’t respond to ba-ba because it’s not the name Evan.  (Granted, he hardly responds to Evan any ways.  What’s just one more person to ignore?)

But there are two words that Evan does say regularly that just crack me up.  Ba-banana is obviously for banana.  Two-wallies is for enchiladas.  It’s kind of a round about way.  First he’s confusing enchiladas with tamales.  He used to like both, but now he prefers enchiladas, which he can’t remember the name.  So he calls them tamales, except he can’t say tamales.  He says two-wallies, which might be because he had them first when my best friend Wally was visiting.

A couple months ago my husband thought it was time for Evan to say banana the right way.

My husband: Do you want your banana?

Evan: Yes, ba-banana please.

My husband: No, Evan, it’s ba-nana.  Can you say ba-nana?

Evan: Ba-banana.

My husband: Ba-nana.

Evan: ba-banana

My husband: Try again. BA-nana.

Evan: Ba-banana.  (All this time Evan is holding his hand out to my husbands, reaching to take the banana out of my husband’s hand that is holding it back.)

My husband: Come on, Evan; try again.  BA-nana.

Evan: Ba-banana

Me: Just give him the banana.  He’ll figure it out soon enough.  You know we have a life time of banana and only a little while with ba-banana.  Then we’ll wish he still said ba-banana.

My husband: Oh.  Right.  Evan, say ba-banana.  (He hands the banana to Evan.)

Evan: Ba-banana.

As for two-wallies, I’m a little more concerned about that word.  He’ll be quite frustrated when he gets a tamale instead of his enchilada.  Maybe he’ll give tamales a second chance because they are quite yummy.  I also encourage parents to try cheese enchiladas on their kids.  They’re super easy to make with a can of enchilada sauce, warm corn tortillas wrapping around cheese (hmm.  I think I might have leftovers for lunch), and I started to throw in a carrot purée with the enchilada sauce.  And if my kid loves them, they must be really something to the toddler taste buds. 

And here’s to all the parents out there who indulge these creative twists on the English language.