I’ve finally had a chance to look at the results from my most recent poll – What was baby’s first word?

And it’s good to know I’m not the only one who got left in the dust.

Overwhelmingly, “Dada” was baby’s first word, with “Mama” coming in a distant second.

Before I got pregnant, everyone told me baby’s first word is usually “mama”; I assumed it was because that’s the person baby’s around the most. After I had Maddie, though, the truth came out. I had mom after mom confess to me that baby’s first word was “dada”.

Why didn’t anyone admit to this earlier?

In spite of what all the Hallmark commercials want you to think, it seems “mama” is not a sure-fire first word. For our household, Maddie began saying “dada” a good week or so before saying “mama”. When friends find that out, they look at me with a mixture of horror any sympathy.

“What! Maddie’s first word wasn’t Mama? Didn’t that make you feel awful?”

No, actually, it didn’t.

The way I see it, Maddie hear the word “dada” way more than she heard “mama”. Why? Because Mama doesn’t talk about herself! She talks about Dada: “Dada’s at work! Dada’s going to have lunch with us! Dada’s coming home!” As far as Maddie was concerned, I was the large, unnameable, immovable presence in her life. I didn’t require much thought at all, much less a name; I was simply always there.

And that’s fine with me. Being taken for granted in that way – having my child never worry or wonder where I am or even need to spare much thought for me – was actually kind of cool at that stage. It said I was doing my job well.

Of course now, in the middle of a Sick Baby Marathon when Maddie only wants Mama and I’ve been holding her for nine hours straight, I’ve got a different opinion. Sending my husband into the wailing baby’s room in order to give me a couple hours peace, only to hear over the monitor as Maddie catches sight of Brian: “No no no no no! I want mama!” doesn’t send a warm, fuzzy feeling all over me.

It sends resentful, begrudging thoughts-about-whiskey-in-baby’s-milk- type feelings all over me.

By and large though, I still get a thrill when she talks to me by name. Early mornings when we’re both there to get her dressed, Maddie lies happily on her changing table pointing back and forth between me and Brian: “Mama. Dada. Mama. Dada.” She doesn’t get tired of putting order to her universe.

And we don’t get tired of hearing it.

Except at 2 a.m.

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