When the sweetest word sounds foul

These days we can get Clementine to attempt to say just about anything, even if she doesn't understand how the sound she is making relates directly to the object or action. This works mostly with people's names and the occasional please and thank you, but I've also tried it with a few oddball phrases like kick ass (ill advised) and rampant consumerism (I got a blank stare in return). Isn't it fun to make your kid a puppet? Next I'm going to take her to the bookstore to request the new Thomas Pynchon novel for her dad's Christmas present--we practiced in the car this morning, but all she could really get out was pin over and over again, and then she started pointing to the radio while chanting pin, pin and I realized I have now probably fucked her verbal development by just trying to have a little fun.

One thing she definitely has down, though, is Mama. I think it's her favorite word apart from all done, which is almost as good as no for expressing her general displeasure with an activity. She says Mama first thing when she wakes up, Mama in the car, Mama at breakfast, Mama when I drop her off and pick her up. She does a lot of Dada reciting in the car on the way home, but once we're home again it's all Mama. Her voice is a little crystal chime with a perfect baby doll lilt as she says it with such satisfaction, and I'm still trying to find a way to record it so I can play it over and over again while I'm at work and missing her. It may be my favorite sound in the world.

Except when it isn't. And sometimes it's not. Like last night, for instance, when she was awake from 11 PM to 2:30 AM for no apparent reason. She spent some of this time crying, some of it singing and playing quietly with her blanket and Lammie, some of it snuggled between us and trying to fall asleep. Most of that time, however, she spent repeating Mama Mama Mama while climbing over me, kicking me, pulling my hair and trying to knead me into the perfect position for her general use. It didn't take long before I caught myself longing for the pre-Mama days, a time when she could grunt and gurgle and not vocalize. How could such a sweet sound turn into such an ugly one?

The other downside of all this Mama talk is that Nate is starting to feel a little marginalized. I think rationally he understands that the fickle affections of a toddler ebb and flow depending on the day and her mood, but how can he not take it personally that she spends half her time with him crying Mama Mama? It breaks my heart, and I know he is struggling to not let it get to him. We're trying everything to make it better, too, like letting him do the whole bed and bath routine, Mama totally absent. He gets to dance with her and hang out with her by himself, but it's not having any dramatic effect. Do other families have this preference problem? What's a good way to solve it? You know I'm loathe to actually go look at a parenting book, but Nate is such a fantastic and affectionate dad I hate to see him spend a single second not knowing it. Perhaps while I'm leafing through the pages it's time to look for strategies for getting Clementine happily and securely into her own bed so she can party all night long if she wants to and not wake her sweet Mama up.

It could be an ugly couple a weeks at our house.