Marvel

I have taken to slipping into F’s room before I go to bed at night, sitting quietly on the end of his bed and watching him sleep.

And just marvelling at him, lying there, breathing quietly.

He’s stringing long sentences together now and his words are getting clearer every day. But when he can’t say what he wants he’s perfected the art of miming. Today he wanted his toy cash register and when I couldn’t work out what he was trying to say he mimed pressing the button to open the cash drawer and said “Bing!” The look of achievement on his face when he realised he’d made himself understood made my heart burst with pride.

I walk a fine line between encouraging him to try and work things out for himself and not letting a situation get to the point where he is so frustrated he has a melt down. But he is a little sponge right now, never before have I had the opportunity to see someone so visibly learning. Sometimes I think I can almost see the sparks of recognition, understanding and accomplishment firing behind those bright blue eyes.

I hope I am doing a good job. I think I am doing a good job. I certainly feel like I am when he comes over and asks me, so many times a day, for a “big cuddle”. I squeeze him tight, breathe him in and then let him go again.

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