It was a lonely experience, as I watched other parents in play groups laugh while their children screamed, rowing their boats down a stream, or leaping up from the floor as the group leader shouted “wake up bunnies!” My boy was oblivious to any of the surrounding noise and interaction, he just sat and spun wheels on a car. A car which I had had to fight the playgroup leader to leave out after the previous game of tidy up.

As the song segment came to an end, I picked up my son and nodded goodbye to the other parents. They would wait around chatting and arranging visits to the park, as their children chased each other, developing friendships that would last a life time.

We left and I sat in the car, feeling the tears well up in my eyes, other times when the tears didn’t come I would uncontrollably hit the steering wheel in a bid to realise the anger and hardship of our situation. I had no control of which direction my brain would decide to release it, my body always just took over.

Then I remembered a nursery worker’s words from the week before. I took a deep breath and turned the keys in the ignition.

“Sing to him” she had said. She explained the interaction of singing, the tune and the vocabulary all combined together. “He will start to interact, then hum the tune, and who knows, maybe add some words in time” she had added.

So I open my mouth and through the sobs I sang! And I didn’t hold back. I only had one audience member, and any reaction would have made my day.

But nothing happened that day. I constantly flicked my eyes up to the mirror to seek any engagement, but there had been none, my son just continued to stare at the seat in front of him. I did however feel slightly better after a good belt out of “She’ll be coming around the mountain”, by the time I got home I was in full on performance mode.

Even though I didn’t get interaction or even a flick of eye contact from my back seat passenger that day. I never gave up.

I kept singing.

I would sit him on my lap facing me, and do every nursery rhyme and children’s song I could think of. Over time he began to look at me, and then allow me to show him the actions with his hands.

I sang all the time, wherever I went. I was Maria, just without the guitar or perfect pitch! After months of solos and crazy individual hand jives, one day my son gave me his interaction. His reward back for all my singing.

As he sat on the carpet clutching Teddy, I watched him rock back and forward to the rhythm of my voice. He listened and did the actions. There were no words, but after every verse he would look towards me for more. It was the first step to an amazing journey.

That was three years ago, and today I don’t sing as much as back then. My pitch is still pretty shocking, and Rhys is only accepting of the perfect note.

He however sings every day a tune he has learnt or something from the back catalogue. I love to sit outside his door, in an attempt to not disturb him and listen to his singing, remembering all those hours I dedicated just a few short years ago.

Never give up.

Always remember to ignore strange glances from neighbouring cars when waiting at a red light and rocking the latest nursery rhyme. Trust me, you are having a lot more fun than they are. Also you most probably will never see them again.

Belt out those tunes. Its worth it.

Music is magical, even when you are a bit out of tune.