He Said Mummy!

Yep. My boy said mummy. Today he just decided was the day and he said ‘hello mummy’ and then he kept saying mummy alllllll day. And it was beautiful. 


He’s 3 years 1 month and 24 days old. I’ve waited a loooong time to hear the word ‘mummy’ come out of his gorgeous chubby little mouth. It was worth the wait. 

When I first found out for sure that Omar had a speech delay I blogged about how worried I was that he wasn’t talking and how desperate I was to have little chats with him. It’s hard to convey to people how much a ‘speech delay’ affects almost everything. It doesn’t sound serious but in reality it is. It’s not just that Omar is a late talker, his understanding is delayed too. There have been times that I’ve despaired that he would never talk, never understand, never say mummy. And while he’s still very delayed I can see that he has made progress and he’s trying and that’s all I ask of him. 


I will confess something I’m not proud of – I’ve been scared that Zaki would say mummy before Omar. I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t happen. I can’t lie, it would hurt to see his younger brother by 2 years ‘overtake’ him. But now Omar has said it I can happily work on Zaki saying it too. 


There have been some really dark days over the past 12 months as I’ve come to terms with Omar’s problems but today has been a great day. Whatever happens, however much he talks or doesn’t talk, he’s my gorgeous, beautiful, happy boy and I wouldn’t change him for all the world. 


To any other parents going through the struggle of having a speech delayed child I promise you this – it does get better. 

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Meltdown (Project 366 – Day 16)

  
Pre-park meltdown (note the lack of actual tears) because I wouldn’t let that motley crew of teddies in the background tag along. After 10 minutes of tantrum there’s nothing else for it but to whip out the camera and snap a shot to embarrass him with on his 18th 😂. 

Sometimes I’m tempted to just give in to his ridiculous demands and probably too often, I do. Other times I firmly stick to my guns, fearing that I’m raising a brat. Nobody likes a brat. 

In the grand scheme of things carting soft toys to the park is no big deal but I’d said no and he’d had the mother of all paddies. If I’d then relented his cunning little self would believe that paddies = own way. He’s so strong willed, as these toddles are wont to be, and really doesn’t need any of his tactics reaffirming. 

That droning fake-cry noise they’re so good at really is the pits though isn’t it? I’m not the only one coping with this crap, am I?