Author:  Darlaranger

Story Title:  How Things Circle Around

Chapter Title:  From Ma-Ma to Ma in Just 18 Years.

Disclaimer:  I'm a poor college student.  I own nothing, literally.  Please don't sue.

Chapter Summary:  The name a mother wears—Jordan's POV

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How Things Circle Around: From Ma-Ma to Ma in Just 18 Years

07.21.03 @ 11:14 PM

Her first word wasn't Ma, but then, almost no child's first words refer to the one who brought him or her into the world. No, her first words were Da, and my husband melted every time he heard the words. Still does in fact.

But, then eventually Ma-Ma came. Such a joyful burst of speech coming from such a beautiful child. I welcomed that sound into my life at every moment, from the dark of night to the dawn of day--it was never a burden to hear it spoken, only a joy.

I can see her now, after all these years, toddling after me, testing out the word in her mouth, innocence incarnate. How ignorant she was of all the pains I knew, she became my healer. Every Ma-Ma sewing up another scar, soothing another scratch. She was my candle in the night, her words my flame.

Too fast, Ma-Ma morphed into Momma. Just a little difference, I know, but such a significant change. My baby learned the power of that single word, the reactions it can evoke, and the necessary tones to gain her desired response. It became a sign that she was growing up, no longer a wobbly-legged infant, but a beautiful raven-haired child walking around the house in her mother's shoes, learning in a few steps what most could never learn in a mile--being Momma is hard. But for every scratch that I cleaned up, I got an "I love you, Momma," from my little girl, and decided that maybe Momma wasn't that bad after all.

Then kindergarten came. I'll never forget the sound of her voice coming from the doorway of that classroom. "Bye, Mommy," she said and ran off into a world I couldn't enter. I was so frightened for her, not knowing what she would encounter during the day, not being able to protect her from the dangers I knew were out there. And she was slowly separating from me. Slowly but surely she needed me less and less. Mommy was just convenient now, when she needed attention or love. But she always got it.

When she was 12, she started calling me Mom. A young girl, standing in front of the mirror, trying on the robes of womanhood too soon, pretending she possessed all the magic and wisdom of femininity. Trying to be callous, trying to be grown-up. Still silently and slyly comparing herself to me, measuring us up, deciding what she wants to take of me, while trying to reject all I have to give. One moment tearing off in anger, muttering about her Mom as she stomped away--the next, crawling up next to me on the couch, needing her Mom to heal her cracked heart, to wipe her teary eyes. I think being Mom was hardest of all.

But, then, Mom went away and was replaced with Ma. So close to that first name, yet so long down that road. My girl said Ma with such sophistication, such confidence, such promise--a word that exudes so much, from a child who should not yet be so old. It spoke of leaving, of beginning a life of her own, of becoming a woman and finally fitting into that skin she tried on so long ago.

It is with this change that I realize Ma is hardest of them all, because though she may still need me now and then, she's grown now. The journey from Ma-Ma to Ma has been long, and it has been hard. It charts the growth of an innocent baby girl into a knowing young woman, a growth that I've guided, a woman that I have to let go and find herself on her own.