Her First Word

I spent my whole pregnancy fantasizing about the little girl inside of me. What she would look like, how she would feel in my arms….
I would imagine kissing her cheeks and how complete her smile would make me feel.
Needless to say, all of this surpassed my expectations, like, a trillion times.
Since she’s joined us earth-side, I haven’t stopped fantasizing. She’s my daydream, my lost-in-thought smile, my “were you even listening” slap back down to earth.
I think about who she’ll be. If she’ll inherit the kindness and thoughtfulness that make my husband and I who we are. 
I think about which side of her brain will dominate her strengths, the left or the right. Will she be creative? Will she be interested in fixing things, people, the world? 
I think about what will make her happy. Will she follow daddy’s lead and play sports? Will she fill my heart with butterflies and eagerly slip on ballet slippers? Will she love to read and write like her parents or will she surprise us all and break the chain of bad mathematicians in this house?
All of this fills my mind constantly, as I know it does for any mother. After being amazed by her on a daily, rather, moment-to-moment basis, it’s only natural to wonder who and what your little creation will grow to be.
Bella started babbling about 6 weeks ago, the la-la-la’s and high-pitched squealing posing a question I couldn’t believe my brain had left out.
Holy shit, her first words! Why haven’t I obsessed about this yet?
So for a few weeks now, I’ve braced myself for the inevitable. Everyone warned me, so I had to get ready. They all said it’d be “dada”.
This wouldn’t have surprised me, as she loves her Daddy in a way that makes me melt, and makes me proud to have made a baby with him.
Of course, though, every mother would love to hear their beloved baby calling out their name instead…
I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so I’ve been bracing for the “dada” and expecting it any day now.
Until yesterday. When I put Bella down in her playpen for a few minutes to start dinner before “Dada” got home.
The playpen she apparently didn’t want to be in…
Because when I ignored her first whine, she did the only thing left to make me stop in my tracks and pick her back up into my arms.
She said her first words.   

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