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“Say, Mama.” The number of times I repeated that phrase to my children. Especially my son. He was a later talker. He didn’t say Mama for a long time. I remember thinking that some day I’d just want him to stop saying my name. (The early morning chanting from his crib comes to mind). But I was desperate. This little boy had taken over my life almost from the moment he was conceived.

My pregnancy after miscarriage, I needed a win and nothing seemed to be going well. I was sicker and more tired and expected. I developed gestational diabetes. I have two week of prodromal labor and he arrived 10 days late. Then he was slow to thrive, with severe reflux, underweight, poor nurser and developed food allergies.

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So when his speech was late I tried not to panic, but how I wanted to hear him say Mama. Just to know that he connected with me, acknowledged me. Yes, he couldn’t live without me, but I needed that emotional connection.

Now he’s two and half and every bit a Daddy’s boy. But we still have our tender moments when he climbs into my lap with a book or stops playing just long enough to demand a hug or a kiss. Now he even says “Wuv you, Mama.”

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Day 9
Join Me

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Day 1
Let’s Move

Day 2
View: My Life as a Landscape

Day 3
He Makes All Things New

Day 4
Learning to Fly

Day 5
Not Stuck

Day 6
He Knows Me

Day 7
Go, But Stay