Little Belle's Mama

There’s a certain kind of magic in the way a child learns to speak, especially when it comes to the words they use for their parents. It’s not just language development; it’s a reflection of their emotions, their growth, and their evolving understanding of the world. My own journey through the names my daughter has given me has been a beautiful, sometimes unexpected adventure—one that continues to unfold in the sweetest ways.

It all began when she was just eight months old. At that time, her little voice found its way to “Mami.” It was simple, soft, and filled with the warmth of infancy. Those syllables carried the weight of new beginnings, of tiny hands grasping mine, of sleepy cuddles and late-night feedings. “Mami” was the voice of dependency, of trust, of knowing that I was her safe place. I remember how my heart melted each time she called out for me, her eyes lighting up as if she had just uncovered the secret to the universe.

Then came the phase of separation anxiety, and with it, the shift to “Mom.” It was surprising at first, hearing such a mature word from such a small person. But in hindsight, it made perfect sense. “Mom” had a certain weight to it, a sense of urgency. It wasn’t just a name—it was a call, a plea for reassurance. During this time, she clung to me in ways both physical and verbal. I became her anchor in a world that was starting to feel bigger, more unpredictable. “Mom” was her way of making sure I was still there, still hers.

As she approached her first birthday and beyond, she decided to redefine my name once again. Suddenly, I was “Mimi.” A playful, endearing version of my title, spoken with a sense of ownership and affection. “Mimi” felt like an inside joke, a secret world we had built together. It was uniquely ours, a name that no one else had given me, and I loved it. Even as she occasionally slipped back into “Mama” when she heard it from the kids at daycare or on TV, “Mimi” remained her preferred name for me. It was as if she was experimenting, trying on different words like outfits, figuring out which one felt just right.

Then, after her second birthday, she surprised me yet again. Seemingly overnight, I became “Mommy.” The change felt monumental. “Mommy” was bigger than “Mimi,” more intentional than “Mom.” It was spoken with a newfound confidence, as if she understood the full depth of the role I played in her life. “Mommy” carried a tenderness that I hadn’t realized I had missed. It was the name of bedtime stories and scraped-knee comfort, of tiny arms wrapped around my neck. It was classic, familiar, and it settled into my heart as if it had always belonged there.

And then, just when I thought I had heard it all, she called me “Honey.” The first time she said it, I did a double take. I wasn’t sure I had heard her correctly. But then she giggled, clearly aware that she had borrowed the name from my husband, who often calls me “Honey” in the most casual, everyday moments. It was as if she had decided that if Daddy could call me that, why couldn’t she? There was something both hilarious and endearing about hearing my toddler use the same affectionate term, her little voice mimicking the patterns of our household.

Each of these names has marked a stage in her growth, a snapshot of who she was at that moment in time. And now, as I look ahead, I wonder what will come next. Will she go through a phase of calling me by my first name, as some children do? Will she invent something entirely new? Will “Mommy” eventually shift back to “Mom” as she grows older, as she begins to assert her independence once again?

Whatever comes next, I know one thing for certain: the name she calls me will always carry the weight of love, no matter how it evolves. It will be a reflection of who she is in that moment—whether she’s a toddler finding comfort in “Mommy,” a teenager rolling her eyes at “Mom,” or an adult looking back and calling me whatever name brings her the warmest memories.

For now, I’ll cherish every version, every syllable, every tiny voice that calls out to me. Because each time she says my name—whatever it may be—she is really saying, “You are mine, and I am yours.” And that, more than anything, is the sweetest sound in the world.