Praying for a miracle
Christmas time used to be such a bittersweet time for me. Long before I had kids it was the most amazing time of year. Catching up with friends and family, eating the most delicious foods and no doubt having my mum’s award winning (well in my point of view) sticky date pudding was enough to wait 12 months for.
Then my husband and I had kids, Christmas became just that much sweeter. Finally, we were parents, and everything seemed right in the world. Our angel boy had arrived, and it felt like our family was well on its way to being complete. However, after the diagnosis that all changed. Christmas became really hard. Hard because he would stimm frequently from dealing with the sensory overload that would come from going to a Greek family Christmas. Hard because he would eat foods that he normally wouldn’t eat because, well you know, you had the well-meaning relative exclaiming “oh come on, its Christmas. Its just one. He’s a child, he deserves one.” And so on and so many more that I can recall. Leading up to Christmas day became very stressful. Planning his food, planning what I could control and praying to God it would all go smoothly with no mishaps, meltdowns or anything else.
The day would come and on the way to the venue I could feel myself getting tense. Becoming increasingly anxious on the way. I tried to remind myself that I would support my angel boy to the best of my ability and if it was all too much we would leave and chill out at home.
The other reason Christmas became bittersweet after the diagnosis was because every year I would pray these exact words. “God, please, say it so – This time next year, my angel boy will talk. Next year I will hear his sweet voice.” And every year would come and go and every year I would pray the same thing, begging to hear his voice. Just one word.
Begging to hear him say “I love you, mum.” What I would have given to hear those three sweet words. I would have crossed the globe, I would have swum an ocean, I would have paid any fee just to hear my sweet little boy talk.
On the year that our son turned 5 things began to change. He began saying one word here or there, clear as day. Then another and another. I would squeal with glee every time I would hear it. Just to hear him saying anything was like angels singing.
I write this blog on the eve of my angel boy’s 8th birthday. Is he saying lots more words and even sentences? Yes. Is he still stimming out of control when he’s eaten far too much of what he shouldn’t have? Yes. Do I still pinch myself when he says anything? Yes. Do I tell him that I love him 4000 times a day? Yes and does he repeat back ‘I love you, mum?” Yes. And it is the sweetest three words I will ever hear.
To the parents whose children are not yet at the talking stage – I see you, I hear you, I feel you but more importantly I’ve got you. I will stand in your corner and champion you and your child until I’m old and grey. I will ease your fears, I will celebrate your victories and I will beam with pride like your child is my child. Honoured to be on this journey with you.
Please don’t feel like you need to walk this journey alone. I walked it alone for far too long and the road to recover was so much longer than it needs to be.
I am here. Please book in a 30-minute free introduction call here. Let’s connect over a cuppa. I’ve got you.
