Favoritism

So, in the last day or so Jamison's babbles have added a new consonant. He's been great with the gggggguhs, and has quickly picked up the bbbbbbuuuhs and the mmmmmmuhs. So today, during the sunday school opening prayer he decided to practice them loud and clear for every one to hear. Buuhbuhhmaaahguuhduhduhmaaah. All throughout the prayer. It was cute but a little embarrassing. The kid has no shame.

So the new addition to his consonant collection is the dddduhs.

I was commenting on this over dinner at my in-laws house.

"He's been using his m's for a while," I said. "So I will be so mad if he says 'dada' first."

Then, from the seat at my feet, comes a sweet little babble.

"Da. Da."

I stared at my traitorous offspring with consternation as the whole table broke into uproarious laughter. I tried to protest that he is only five and a half months and clearly didn't know what he was saying, but to no avail. It seemed pretty obvious to our audience that Jamison had made his choice of favorite parent. I felt so betrayed. I am the one who incubated his little self, sacrificed my body to stretch marks and cellulite to carry his nine pounds around on swollen, tired feet. I am the one who has devoted every waking minute since then to be at my hatchling's beck and call, there to serve his every little whim, acting as doctor, chef, maid, dairy cow, laundress, and entertainer as his pint sized wishes demand... and this is what I get?

There is, however, a very simple explanation to this behavior. Once I figured it out, it all made sense.

For some reason, Jamison must think my name is dada. Silly boy.