Marie's first word was "ma ma."
I can't begin to tell you how thrilled I was that finally, after six children, ONE of them decided to say "ma ma" first! (just so you know, my oldest child, Sean, actually said his version of "quesadilla" before he said Mommy. That's how sad it is...)
It was not to last.
As time went on, she dropped that word completely from her vocabulary as she gained quite a few others. She can call each of the children by her own version of their names... says "Daa-deee" in a way that just melts my husband's heart, and can converse with others about blankets, juice, books, dogs, cats, shoes, and many other things.
Except for me. I no longer have a name.
If you ask her who I am, you will be greeted with a quizzical look, as if the thought never occurred to her that I would actually HAVE a name. I am merely the provider of all needs, righter of all wrongs, fetcher of all that needs to be fetched.
I... am Mee-Mee.
Mee-Mee is her word for anything that needs immediate attention. If she wants a book read, for example, she will call "mee-mee" down the hall with said book in hand, expecting me to drop whatever I am doing, sit on the floor, and read with her.
Got hurt? Mee-mee.
Need juice? Mee-mee.
Tired and ready for a snuggle before bed? Mee-mee.
Having a rough morning and just need to sit on my lap? Mee-mee.
I am like air, I suppose... crucial for life, but not often thought of. I can understand what she's not able to vocalize yet... take care of all her needs... share her discoveries... and provide comfort when life gets too stressful. She expects that, and can't imagine that I serve any other function.
I am Mee-mee, and that's a pretty big honor.