For the first five years of my son’s life, he never called me Mama, and he only said a word or two without being prompted. When his doctors would ask, “Where’s your mama?” he’d always point to me.
He knew who I was, but if he needed me, he wouldn’t say a word. He’d walk over and slide a tiny finger or two inside of my palm and give my hand a little tug.
That was his way of saying, “I need your help. Come with me.” Most often, he’d lead me to the kitchen and point to cookies or open the refrigerator and say “juice” so sweetly that it nearly always made me smile.Read more on themighty.com