It was always the same series of questions: how did you get pregnant?  Who is your donor?  What is the baby going to call you?

We developed easy, quick answers to the first two, but that last one was a doozie for quite a while.  We just flat-out didn’t know WHAT the baby was going to call us.

Kristin got quite touchy about the whole thing: why do we have to pick names?  Why can’t she pick her own names for us?  Why can’t she call us BOTH Mom; we ARE both mom. 

You’d be surprised at how insistent people can get when you refuse to label yourself.  How will she know whom she’s calling?  How will you know whom she wants?  My mother, god love her, was one of the worst, getting increasingly anxious about it after Julia was born.  I think she even brought it up in the hospital when Kristin was recovering from her c-section.  One day she tried a new tactic.  “Look,” she said, “I know that you will know who she means, and I know that she will know who she means, if she’s using the same word for both of you; but don’t you want to give her terminology and a language that she can use to help explain her family when people ask her questions?  Don’t you want to give her a way to label her mothers for other people so THEY know who she’s talking about?  She’ll be in kindergarten drawing pictures of her family and when people ask her who the tall, adult figures are, what will she say?  She’s going to be an ambassador, aren’t you going to give her the tools for the job?”

Ouch.

She didn’t come out and say it, but I think she was worried for me and people’s perception of me as a “real” mother.  If we’re both mommy, or mother, then any time we’re being talked about together one of us is the mommy, and the other of us is… well, the Other.  But if we’ve already chosen names, well, then we’re mommy and mama with nary a sign of the dreaded O word.  Of course, in a world that has a very limited understanding of what a “real” mother is, the dreaded O word is always present, spoken or not.  No getting around it unless you’re both on the birth certificate.  And maybe not even then.

So, we decided to choose.  Kristin had an indelible (or so she thought) impression of the word “mama” as only referring to a fat, older woman; whereas I have a similarly irrational prejudice (involving a different stereotype) against the word “mommy”.  So it was easy: I’ll be mama and Kristin would be mommy.  Not that it mattered, Julia couldn’t speak yet, and she couldn’t really follow instructions such as: take that diaper to mommy and ask her to change you!  So what was the point in having different titles?  The only point was that it made other people more comfortable.  Yay us.

I guess because the names were never all that important to us, we got a bit confused as to who was to be called what.  Eventually it seemed that Kristin completely forgot that she was supposed to be mommy and she started referring to herself as mama and ME as mommy.  I, of course, still prefer the name mama and so I refer to myself as that and to Kristin as the name she was supposed to be — Mommy.  There went the whole point of having different names, other people’s comfort be damned. 

Regardless of the confusion, our early suspicions proved correct: Julia never gets confused about who is who.  She always knows who she wants.  One day when I was home with her and Kristin was working, Julia was sitting in her highchair while I cleaned.  Suddenly she started screetching “Mama!”  “What sweetheart?” I called out to her.  “No!  MAMA!” Julia replied.  How silly of me.  She meant the other mama, of course.

As Julia has gotten older, Kristin and I have given up squabbling over the name mama.  Our names have become conditional.  The person who is speaking, the person who is present, is always mama.  The other one, the absent one, the one not speaking, is always mommy.  And Julia gets it.  If she’s talking to me then I’m mama, and if she’s talking about me to Kristin then I’m mommy while Kristin is mama.

Of course, what we’re not sure that she gets is the exclusivity of the two terms to us, that this is a private grammar that marks our family.  Mama is a mobile word and thus Julia’s been known to walk up to ANY woman and address her as mama when asking for something.  At this point I think Julia thinks the word “mama” means: any woman who will do something for me.  Alas.

Inappropriate mama-ing of non-mama people notwithstanding, the system, irregular as it is, works for us. 

So.  What works for you?  How do you label yourself?  How do you resist labeling?  How do you feel about labeling in general?