I think he can say mama. Just like that one time six months ago I'm pretty sure he said da-gon (dragon) and for a month he called the dog Coo-cah (Cooper) but then the "words" suddenly stopped and we're back to plthhh-hhh and healkljkijakjd! akjslaks? And dit-dit-dit as our language.
"Can he talk?" the people ask.
"Sure. He can talk. He just doesn't feel like it right now or ever actually."
"What can he say?"
"Just you know, the usual stuff."
But today instead of reaching out for me and saying Mama (Which he only does sometimes when he's in the mood *aka* once, three weeks ago) he said "Be-cah" which is my name. Becca. Rebecca. Hi. How you doing.
I was impressed for a minute and then I got this nightmare-ish portrait in my head of me and the Archer ten years from now, windows down, cruising cross-country Diet Soda & Doritos Road Trip and me looking freakishly masculine, kind of like a Desperate Housewife in prosthesis and him being all "Yo Becca, pass the Red Vines" and me being all, "Dude, turn up the stereo, I love this shit," and me giving him a high-five and him calling me Becca and me calling him dude and me losing my hormone medication and being really scared that he might find out the truth about my penis:
"No, baby. It's mama, not Becca."
"Yeah, but no. I really don't want to have that kind of relationship with you. I mean, I want to be your friend and all but I'm not down with the call the parent by the first name thing. Mmmm-mmmm. Not so much. You can call me anything but Becca. You can call me plthhhhhh or if you prefer, "dit"...?
"Really cute and charming but this is it. Final word. End of discussion."
Seriously, end of discussion.
Luckily the name-calling stopped soon after I bribed the little guy with crackers and did my funny-dance which involves a book on my head and a baby monitor as walkie-talkie and a lot of falling on my face. He laughed and forgot all about his new word.
In this modern world I suppose children who call their mothers by first name is bordering on posh. Yes, very Architectural Digestesque. Very CEO Alpha-Mom. There is such a fine-line between that and my white-trash nightmare (great film, btw) Hm. Maybe I had it all backward. Perhaps now I can join the Power-Club for Moms by default.
Power suits, here we come.