MaMa.

I love that word.
We spend so much time when our babies are little trying to get them to formulate their mouths in the right ways in order to validate our egos and sleepless nights. For me, the gratification has not been so immediate, but the reward I must say is sweeter.
Deak loves to call me "MaMa."
Loves it.
Loves it so much that sometimes when I leave to walk into another room at home, I'll hear the jabbering "MaMa...MaMa.." to which he knows will be be momentarily responded to by an easily amused and over-affectionate crazy lady running to meet his every demand. I can't help it, I just love the sound of his voice that too often I don't get to hear (yet.)
Each afternoon as I pick him up I am graced with that precious word. Some days I count the minutes until I can pick him up just to get my "MaMa" fix. He usually adds an "I La Ya," just for good genuine measure. Those words are almost always followed by belly laughs and smooshy cheeked smiles. Smiles, because he is proud. Proud he can make someones heart so happy by a simple sentence.
You'd think I'd get tired of it.
I Never Do, and I Never Will.
In fact, Abby still calls me MaMa when she is feeling sentimental, and each time I feel my heart flutter...knowing those moments of hearing that word from her mouth are growing more rare with age. Age that I am so desperately wanting her to slow down.

I hope to become the kind of mother whose children always feel comfortable enough to call "MaMa."
Forever and ever.