Mama.

We have a consonant!

Beth says, “Ummma! Ummma!” and my heart, it sings! Mama!

Sure, she says it while gazing adoringly at her father, and her cow, and the ceiling fan, and the lightswitch, and everything except me, but full marks for effort!

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Confession time: that’s probably the single syllable she’s heard the most often in her short and miserable life, with the possible exception of her own name. I sing the “Brown-eyed Girl” song to her, but since I can never remember the real lyrics, her version goes like this:

Do you remember when we used to sing,
“Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma, I want some noofs!¹
Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma, please give me noofs!
I need noofs!”

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¹ That would be our cloyingly cute pet name for milk, yes indeedy.

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