All his life, Ian has called us “Mummy” and “Daddy”.
He never wavered. He never seemed to wonder why other people called us something else. Even when I tried to tell him, he wouldn’t be swayed.
We were mummy and daddy, and that was that.
So imagine my surprise at bath time last night, when Ian quietly, almost experimentally, asked me “What’s your name?”
I smiled at him. “Mummy,” I said.
Still softly, but quite determinedly, Ian corrected me. “Fiona.”
I blinked in surprise. “Yes, of course. My name is Fiona.”
“Neil,” said Ian, obviously following his train of thought.
“Yes, that’s right. Daddy’s name is Neil.”
Had he been taught this at his day placement? I checked today. No, he hadn’t, although they have observed that Ian is using language more freely and communicating more directly with the staff there, almost day by day.
This is very exciting. The right people in the right environment, connecting with Ian through the right activities = spontaneous greater language usage.
And after all these years, Ian has finally made the connection.
That I call ‘daddy’ Neil, and he calls me Fiona.
Twenty-five years old, and my son finally knows my name. I wish I could adequately express how big this feels. ‘Cosmic’ doesn’t quite do it justice.
Not because he knows it, but that he made the connection by himself.
He worked it out alone, and then fact-checked by asking me my name, and corrected me when I gave him the wrong answer.
That’s huge, and it’s going to take me a while to stop smiling.
I’ll be back in the New Year.
Season’s Greetings, everyone. Stay safe, stay well, stay happy.
Much love ❤️