Little Writer Monkey

“If the road is easy, you’re likely going the wrong way.” ― Terry Goodkind

I don’t have a lot to say today. I just found these two things and they made me think.

I was reading C.S. Lewis this morning. I came across this quote. I hope you like it as much as I did.

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

And this TED talk that I need to watch. A talk by Aimee Mullins, actress, model, athlete, and amputee. It’s 20 minutes, but worth it when you have the time.

Aimee Mullins: The opportunity of adversity

Have a great week everyone!

“It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for a bird to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.” – C.S. Lewis

One year ago today, I was having my first ultrasound with little Miss Mia. It was one of the most difficult days of my life. One moment we were gazing at the sweet baby on the monitor, excited to find out she was a little girl, and then the next moment the doctor was telling us that he saw a soft marker for Down syndrome.

It’s a strange feeling going from elation to despair in a matter of moments. Then came the termination talk and I started having existential thoughts about value and worth.

In the weeks after, I endlessly searched the internet for everything I could about Down syndrome and nuchal fold soft markers looking for answers, and I started praying like I had never prayed in my life. It was a long and emotional summer.

I think back to those early days and I wish I could go back in time and sit myself down for a long talk. There are a few things I would like to tell the Erin of 2012. One would be to stop searching the internet.

But I would also tell her how fantastic her new daughter will be. How her smile will light up a room. I would tell her how beautiful, sweet and happy her daughter will be and that there will be nothing sad or tragic about her. I would tell her that her new little girl will be feisty, determined, loving, friendly, and will have an intense curiosity. I would joke with her about how she will be Erin and Nate all rolled into one and that the world should be very afraid.

I would tell her how her thought process will change. I would tell her that right now she may feel as though she made a huge mistake, but in 12 months she will become breathless and panicked at the very thought of losing her daughter.

I would tell her that of course she’ll be worried about the future. That the thought of people being mean to her daughter or thinking that her daughter has no value will make her nauseated and terrified, and that the fear of the unknown will threaten to bury her.

I would assure her that those thoughts will come and go, because the moment she thinks that all is lost and that she’ll never feel normal again, her daughter will do something so normal and adorable that her courage will take its place. She’ll hear a sweet little “lalalala” from across the room as if her daughter is saying, “Don’t you dare lose faith in me now.”

One year. It’s not what I expected. Thank you, God.

“Any idiot can face a crisis; it’s this day-to-day living that wears you out.” – Anton Chekhov

When I checked in at Mia’s ophthalmologist appointment the other day, the receptionist asked, “Did you fill out the paperwork ahead of time like we asked you to?” I kind of stared at her for a minute. “What paperwork?” I finally met brain overload. I’m sure they told me about it. I’m sure I even smiled and said, “Sure, no problem.” I think I need a vacation.

I scheduled Mia’s six-month (although she’ll be seven months old at the time) evaluation for occupational therapy. I know she’s doing fine and it’s not going to be a shocker of an evaluation. It occurred to me today that the date of the evaluation is exactly one year to the day of our first ultrasound, when they told us she might have Down syndrome. I don’t remember much of June after the 12th. I pretty much spent the end of June sitting in the dark at night searching the internet for information and crying.

I’m thinking that this June will be far less dramatic.

But I know when I’ve hit my limit and need a break.

In July, our family is headed to Colorado for a couple of weeks. We’re going to hike and enjoy the outdoors and get a little mountain therapy. I think all four of us need it. We need to just play outside and not worry too much about schedules and therapy and all of the stuff that goes with it.

I’m excited for the quiet us time (and maybe visiting some friends and family!).

We just have a month and a half of day-to-day living to get through.

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

In church on Sunday, we prayed for a family who had a brand new baby. As we started to pray, our pastor said, “Let us pray for one of God’s highest blessings – a healthy baby.” I bristled. I couldn’t help it. A “healthy” baby.

There’s still some anger just under the surface. Anger that Mia has to struggle with a chromosomal disorder. Anger that she has to deal with health problems, cognitive problems, and mean horrible people. Anger.

After church, I asked Nate, “Why can’t Mia be a blessing too? Are only healthy babies blessings?”

He said, “What do you mean? She is a blessing.”

“Well, if a healthy baby is a blessing, does that mean that a baby with a disorder is not a blessing?”

“You’re making the assumption that just because a healthy baby is a blessing then the converse must also be true. That a baby with health problems is not a blessing. That’s just not true and that isn’t what the pastor meant.” Nate was being much too logical. I was still angry.

Of course, I wasn’t angry at the pastor. What he said was just fine. I was just angry for my little girl. I was going down the “it’s not fair” line of thinking.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled on a study about adults with Down syndrome. It’s rare that I would dig into an article like this because I’m trying to stay in the present right now and not worry about what 20 years from now will look like. It’s no more productive at this moment to try to determine what Mia’s abilities are going to be than it is to start filling out Fynn’s application to Harvard. However, on that day the curiosity overcame me and I read.

There was one story that really stuck out. It was the story of John. When he was a baby, he was put in an institution because he was born with Down syndrome. He spent his childhood and adolescence there. When he entered adulthood, he took a few life skills classes and they let him leave the institution. He got a full-time job, bought a house, amassed a large savings, bought a truck and a trailer that he could take to the lake fishing on weekends, and lived his life. Later when his mother got sick, he moved her into his house and took care of her at the end of her life.

I think about that story a lot. I mean, it’s an encouraging story about an adult living independently with Down syndrome, but that’s not why I think about it. I think about it because that poor baby was put into an institution just because he had Down syndrome. He had to live without his family because he had a trisomy disorder. He was perfectly capable of living successfully at home and being with his family, but he didn’t. And the odds were that a doctor told his mother that an institution was the best place for him.

That’s not fair.

I also think about the end of John’s story. He moved his mother into his house and took care of her even though she had decided she couldn’t take care of him when he was an infant. He could have done the same thing to her as she had done to him. He could have put her in a nursing home and walked away. Who would have blamed him? He had a disability. He wasn’t even able to grow up in his own house. He could have just abandoned her in her time of need.

But he didn’t.

I think about that a lot.

I know my view of the story is not that simple. I’m sure a lot more happened and went into every decision made. But I look at Mia and think about all the things she gets to see and do. All of the love that she feels and gives every single day, and I feel angry and sad for people like John.

So what now?

Is it fair that Mia has a trisomy disorder? Is it fair that she will have to struggle? I guess I’ve been slowly coming to the realization that it doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not. It happened and here we are. And all that’s left is to decide what to do with the time that is given us.

Today we’re going to play in the sunshine.

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
― Emily Dickinson

Today is World Down Syndrome Awareness Day. For the last week, I’ve been thinking about a blog that would adequately celebrate and educate on this day. I’m still completely stumped. I’m really not sure what to write about. Here goes. Sorry if it is a mess.

For the longest time, Down syndrome and Mia seemed synonymous. I couldn’t look at her without seeing T21.It occurred to me over the past week that as her personality has begun to fully emerge, I’ve thought about Down syndrome less and less. Now I look at Mia and just see Mia. Her joyful little smile, excited baby expressions, funny looks, her willful determination and overwhelming curiosity, and her sweet loving eyes. I see her.

And I love her. Oh, the love. For so many months before her birth the fear eclipsed the love. Even after her birth, I felt the love but it always had that dark cloud of fear hanging overhead. All of that is gone now. I worry about her future, yes, but only like a mother should, and I’m no longer afraid of raising this sweet, amazing little girl.

Albert Einstein said, “Any fool can know. The point is to understand.” I want everyone to hold Mia, to talk to her, and to look into her eyes. I want them to understand. Down syndrome is just her diagnosis. It doesn’t define who she is. No amount of medical definitions, journal articles, or statistics will be able to describe Mia. She is Mia, a unique and wonderful little girl. A little girl who, like everyone else, deserves to be understood.

My biggest surprise? The joy. The joy I feel every day. The joy I see in her. She exudes joy. After Mia was born, Nate and I said (maybe a little sardonically) that it was too bad that the extra chromosome didn’t give Mia some sort of super power a la the X-Men. Like it’s too bad that instead of causing delays and health problems, the extra 21st chromosome gave her the ability to walk through walls or something. We’d laugh about it sadly, especially early on.

Then a couple weeks ago, I thought back to that bad joke and laughed to myself. I laughed because it’s true. Somehow Mia did get blessed with a super power. The joy. She’s so full of it she just can’t help herself. And every time she smiles at me I can’t help but smile, too. She smiles, I smile, she smiles more and all of a sudden I’m so full of joy I can’t help but forget all the things I was sad about before.

I mean, I expected a lot of feelings to emerge after I had Mia. I expected sadness, disappointment, frustration, anger, and maybe some happiness, but joy? It’s by far my biggest surprise. Sometimes I see so much joy in her and in me and everyone that she meets that I want to laugh out loud.

Someday I’ll take a video of waking her up in the morning. I unwrap her swaddle, she stretches, yawns, opens her eyes and flashes me the biggest smile, and then another and another. It’s like unwrapping a little bundle of joy every single morning.

Why is it hard to write this blog? Because my life is so normal now. What seemed like the big scary thing is slowly, over time, becoming the little thing. Do we talk about it, yes, but it’s being pushed aside for more important things – like enjoying and raising and loving our two beautiful little people.

I believe now that I needed that early time with her when I just saw the T21. I needed that time to let my fear disappear as her personality emerged. Just like a good spring rain washes away what is left of winter before the flowers bloom.

Happy World Down Syndrome Awareness Day! I’ll be celebrating with my sweet little blossom.

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” – Dr. Seuss (Happy belated birthday, Dr. Seuss!)

Mia is going to be four months old tomorrow. Kind of a lot has happened in the last four months. I thought I would do a little Q&A for people in case they are interested in how she’s doing – or how we’re doing. Some of these are questions I get asked a lot, and maybe a couple of things people might be afraid to ask.

Q: How is Mia doing?

A: There’s a lot behind this question, I think. Genuine interest as well as concern. I would have asked the same thing of a friend who had a child with Down syndrome. Part of me would have been just interested in the new baby, but the other part of me would just be so curious about what it’s like having a child with a trisomy disorder. Not to mention, it’s scary. I’d be concerned.

Here is the truthful, honest, brutal answer: She’s doing great. I really see very little difference between how Mia is right now at four months and what Fynn was like at the same age. Actually a few things are different. She smiles a lot more than Fynn ever did. She also coos more. Fynn was definitely not rolling over at three months.

She’s interested in her world. Touches, bats at, and grabs all of her toys. The rolling really started because there were toys out of her reach and she wanted to get them. Her favorite thing (like all babies) is looking at the faces of her family members. She watches Fynn like a hawk as he’s walking around the room. She responds to our voices and we “converse” which is very cute. I’ll talk and then she’ll coo back. She is very interested in her hands and how they work. She loves to sit up and stand on her feet (both with help, obviously).

There are probably things she should be doing that she’s not. You may notice that I get really excited about milestones. That is not because I think she’s an extra special baby or something (I totally think she’s extra special because I’m her mother), but I get excited because I was literally told that she might lie there like a dish rag and not respond to any of us for a long time. You know, worst case scenario stuff. I’m literally shocked every single day at how well she’s doing. Normal, to me, is shocking. It’s better than being disappointed, I guess.

Health-wise, all is well. Since coming home from the hospital, she has not been sick one single day. Aside from her heart murmur, she hasn’t had any problems.

Challenges will come, but at this point things are pretty typical around here.

Q: Are you worried about her missing or having delayed milestones?

A: Not really. I’m only concerned with how to help her achieve them. I’ve learned something about parenting with the first one. You know, no one gives you a prize when they meet milestones early or even on time. No lottery money, recognition, or special gift. Not a thing. Sad but true. For all of you new parents, you’ll discover this and be as disappointed as I was.

Seriously, though. What does it matter if she talks at 8 months or 4 years? As long as we work on it and figure out some way to communicate to alleviate her frustration, then I’ll be happy. Even if we can’t, we’ll deal with it. Once I figured out that there was no one I was competing against, it was pretty easy to get over this part.

I’m sure I’ll have that twinge of sadness when I hear another child conversing easily with their mother or walking at 12 months if Mia is not, but I’m no stranger to that feeling.

Q: What is therapy like?

A: Right now, Mia has occupational therapy once every other week at our home. With a four-month-old, there’s not a lot of “therapy” that happens during that time. Really, she is just being constantly assessed for delays and other issues. For example at our last appointment, I expressed concern over a head tilt that Mia is doing when she is sitting up. She will tilt her head to one side. Her therapist massaged her neck and looked for any issues that she felt required a visit to the doctor prior to her four-month appointment. She couldn’t find anything and suggested it was likely a muscle issue so she gave us some different exercises to do to build the muscles in her neck. We’ve been doing them and the problem is resolving itself.

We started putting Mia on her tummy to play the day she came home from the NICU. She’s on her tummy every time she is awake for quite some time. We try not to use “buckets” in the house – swings, baby seats, and car seats. We don’t have a swing in the apartment. She only sits in a baby seat when I need to eat, shower, or when Fynn is running around the house and I need to do dishes. This is not because we’re awesome parents; it’s because Mia is going to always have muscle issues. Buckets restrict a baby’s movement. While that’s not a big deal, typically, it would be a huge problem for Mia.

Basically, the OT plays with Mia for a half an hour and tells us what we need to work on. The key is that we work on it. So every day, I sit with Mia and play with her. That sounds obvious, but there are certain things I encourage her do so that she builds muscles and continues to build core strength and the foundation for crawling, sitting, and ultimately, standing and walking.

Later on, Mia will get a physical therapist as well as a speech therapist. There are also services beyond three years old, but I’m not worrying about that quite yet.

Q: Are you worried about her future?

A: Yep, absolutely. If I dwell on it, I could drive myself completely insane with worry. Just like if I constantly worried about the bad things that could happen to Fynn. There are days that are worse than others. When Nate travels, the nights home alone get very long. I start to think about the bad things that might happen to her as she gets older. I have to stay off the internet. None of it is helpful. Each and every situation is completely unique, just like every situation with any kid is unique. Plus, there are a lot of cruel people, as well as people who are unintentionally cruel. I’ve been trying harder to surround myself with positivity versus the negative stuff. Be realistic but not pessimistic. Not to mention that I trust that God is by our side on this one.

But here’s the thing – she’s only four months old. I’m just going to enjoy these days because “babies don’t keep.” Someday, God willing, both of my kids are going to be adults. With Fynn turning four in May, it is happening faster than I’d like. It’s important to prepare, but it’s also important to enjoy each and every stage of their lives. There are no do-overs with kids. I can’t make Mia this age ever again. Time will keep marching on as time does, and we’ll face whatever challenges come our way.

Thankfully we have a lot of loving and caring people surrounding us and her. That makes me worry much less.

Q: Will you do a Buddy Walk with Mia?

A: I’m really thinking about this. It happens in Waukesha around the time of Mia’s first birthday. I’ll keep everyone posted if we do one because you’re all invited.

That’s all for now. If you have any questions for me, please let me know. I’d be happy to answer them. Maybe I’ll do it in another blog post…that is if I have the answer.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown” ― H.P. Lovecraft

There have been a few conversations over the past couple weeks that have got me thinking.

Last week, Fynn had a dental appointment. It was there that this exchange with the dental hygienist took place:

“How old is the baby?” She pointed to Mia, who was asleep in her carrier.

“Three months old,” I said.

“What’s her name?”

“Mia.”

“Is she healthy?”

I kind of stared at her for a second. I’m never sure how to answer this question. At this moment in time, she’s very healthy. She has a minor heart murmur. Does having Down syndrome mean she’s unhealthy?

So I responded, awkwardly, “Well, she was born with Down syndrome, but she’s very healthy.” I smiled a big smile to signal all was well.

“Have they talked to you about her teeth, yet?” The hygienist had a grave look.

“No, but I’m sure they’ll get to it. She’s only 3 months old,” I said as I tried to put an end to what was happening and kicking myself for bringing it up. Why didn’t I just hand her Mia’s chromosome analysis while I was at it?

“Well, sometimes their teeth come in crooked or they don’t come in at all,” she said knowingly.

I tried to hold it in. She was trying to be kind, but I’d had my fill of this kind of nonsense.

“I’ve heard that,” I said, “but it is the last thing I’m going to worry about right now. Besides, I know plenty of people whose teeth have never come in or have come in crooked. Like all of them, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Oh, okay. I suppose you’re right,” she said and went back to working on Fynn.

I know she was trying to be helpful, but what am I supposed to do with that information right now? Today? I can’t will her teeth to come in. Am I supposed to do some kind of “tooth rain dance?” Her teeth are going to be her teeth. Why is that something I need to worry about right now? There is nothing I can do about that at 3 months.

Thankfully for Mia and other people with Down syndrome, this is a highly studied population so we know what to look out for. However, sometimes there can be such a thing as too much information. Doctors don’t walk into every new mom’s room and hand her the Physician’s Desk Reference and say, “You should take a look at this, just so you know everything that could possibly go wrong.” Unfortunately, I got handed the manual of care for children with Down syndrome from birth to 22 years that the American Academy of Pediatrics puts out for DOCTORS by one of my pediatricians 24 hours after Mia was born. Well, thanks, I thought to myself, I’ll get right on figuring out how to talk to Mia about puberty. Good grief. That’s filed in the “unhelpful” category. It’s so much information to process. It’s great to be informed but some things can wait. Tell me what I need to know this week, this year, or even the first 3, but let’s hold off on dealing with birth control for a while, okay (and yes, that’s in there).

I want to be prepared, but constantly worrying about everything that could go wrong in the future could rob me of enjoying her today. Three months will turn into three years and then 3 decades so quickly, and I’ll have wasted my time with her worrying about the “what ifs” that may never ever happen.

At least I didn’t add her teeth to that list.

One other thing happened this week, and it hit me that I’ve been ridiculous. I was talking to Fynn’s OT about Mia. Fynn has a private OT and Mia works with Birth to 3 at the moment. It’s not that Fynn’s OT can’t handle Mia (she’d do great); it’s more of a cost thing. Right now, it’s more affordable for Mia to be in Birth to 3, especially as they add more services for her.

Well, I was talking to her about some of the great things that have happened – Mia rolling, her trying to scoot (that has mostly turned into her trying to roll both ways now), and just everything that has generally been going well – when I said, “She’s just been doing really great, but I know that one day she won’t be…” And I stopped.

Fynn’s OT was looking at me with a very serious look. “Why does there have to be a “but”? She asked me.

“I just want people to know that I understand that she, you know.” I stammered.

“Stop doing that,” she said. “From what you’ve said and from what I’ve seen here, she’s doing great. You have no idea what she’ll be able to do and neither does anyone else. Yes, it might take her longer to do things than other children, but that doesn’t mean she’ll never be able to do them. Believe in her.”

I smiled, “She’s doing great.”

“There you go,” she said.

I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. I was qualifying her success. I was ashamed. For all my talk about believing in her, I’d been selling her short and stealing her success. For crying out loud the CHILD IS CONSISTENTLY ROLLING OVER AT 3 MONTHS. She IS doing great. I couldn’t just be happy for her. I had to cloud it with my own worry and fear.

For all the things I can’t control in BOTH of my kids lives, I can control this. Both of my kids are doing great. They’re amazing. No “buts” or qualifications necessary.

It’s Friday, Nate’s home from traveling, and my kids are happy and healthy. I’m going to enjoy the weekend. Worry free, God willing.

“Persons appear to us according to the light we throw upon them from our own minds.” –Laura Ingalls Wilder

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time – expectations. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m a little addicted to two things: blogs and forums. I read all kinds – for profit, personal, health. Blogs, blogs, and more blogs. Add in some discussion forums and I listen to a lot of strangers’ opinions.

After we learned about Mia’s possible diagnosis, reading them became more masochistic than really helpful. I mean, you either read someone’s really positive story or someone’s horror story. I’ve found that if you’re going to write a blog (especially a subject blog) then you have some pretty strong feelings about the issue at hand. It’s rather difficult to find a person with an average run-of-the-mill situation (run-of-the-mill doesn’t sell). Plus writers (good and bad) are fairly dramatic individuals just trying to tell a good story.

Which brings me to forums. Far worse than blogs, forums allow people to just say what they’re thinking – spontaneously. For good or bad, you get to read the immediate and not always well thought out impressions of your fellow human beings. Sigh.

However, it’s in these forums that I’ve discovered a paradox in expectations – especially as it relates to blog writers. Given Mia’s diagnosis, I’ve been gravitating to blogs about children and families dealing with disabilities. There are blogs I like and blogs I don’t. No use discussing that here. I mean, everyone has blogs/bloggers they like and those they can’t stand to read. What I have discovered is that some of the readers of these blogs have some very odd and inconsistent expectations for parents who have children with disabilities (maybe all humans in general). There is no right way to act or write. If the blogger is too positive then he or she “doesn’t know what they have coming to them” or is in “denial” or is “an amazing mother or father.” If the blogger is too negative then he or she is either “not dealing with the diagnosis well” or “being realistic.”

There’s no room for different experiences. People just see the blogger, and I suppose regular humans like me, through the lens of their own experience. If the reader or viewer had a negative experience with a child with special needs, then ALL people with children with special needs will have negative experiences. When they are shown something outside their own experience, they are suspicious of what they see. It’s only human to assume your experiences translate to others. That, of course, goes for positive experiences as well. It’s seductive to look at a positive situation and say, “That’s going to be me!” Well, not necessarily. Life has infinite possibilities.

In addition, readers assume that the blogger is letting them in on their innermost feelings. Blogging is not a private journal. You’re not reading a diary, just someone’s crafted thoughts. Some are more crafted than others. You don’t really KNOW someone unless you KNOW someone. Sometimes it’s not a good idea to trust the narrator, especially when they are narrating their own life.

I’m sure that extends to all of our family, friends, and acquaintances as well. We judge from a distance. How are they handling it? How do they afford it? Etc, etc. All very human and I’m guilty of that too.

With all of that said, I’ve never been more confused about how to act in my entire life. How am I expected to act? Am I doing or saying the right things? Which should I be? Positive or negative? I’m not quite sure how to be.

I’m not a naturally positive person. As I’ve said before, I’m pretty snide and sarcastic. However, I’m encouraged by things I see in Mia’s progress. I’m pleasantly surprised that she’s doing well and isn’t plagued by constant health problems so far. At this point, she’s doing the typical things that 3-month-olds do. I am always leery of the other shoe. When will it drop? However, being encouraged doesn’t mean I’m delusional. No more than having bad days means that I’m an emotional wreck all of the time. I’m gathering from the people I actually know who have children with special needs and my present experience (limited though it is) that life is pretty normal and boring. You still get up, go grocery shopping, watch TV, read books, have conversations, eat, and sleep. So, it’s just a life – an average, run-of-the-mill life. It does have its own special challenges, but everyone has their own special challenges.

In fact, sometimes I think I manufacture drama because life is supposed to be dramatic, right? Why isn’t life more dramatic? Shouldn’t this be more dramatic?

I’m just not sure where I fit on the spectrum of emotions. What kind of special needs parent am I? I have no idea. I spend my days being positive and negative, calm and anxious, frustrated and encouraged, happy and sad. To quote Walt Whitman, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large — I contain multitudes.”

I’m fortunate to have family and friends who are just letting me be, not questioning me too much, and allowing me to be a human full of contradictions. The support is awesome.

This morning I found myself lost in thought, worrying about one thing or another, and getting anxious and over thinking things. I looked down at Mia (who I was holding) and I realized she was smiling at me. She was just smiling at me with big expectant eyes. It reminded me that I need to worry less about what strangers may think or if I’m acting in the “right” way. I just have to be me. Live life. Love my people. Go with the flow.

And trust.

11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11

“If you were born without wings, do nothing to prevent them from growing.” ― Coco Chanel

I just watched my daughter climb over her boppy to get a stuffed monkey in her gym. I had to rescue her because she face-planted into her gym, but she came up clutching the monkey and promptly stuffed it in her mouth. A far cry from what I expected at 3-months from my daughter born with Down syndrome. So I decided to make a list of the things she’s doing now. I grabbed the list from What to Expect the First Year. So here you go – from our first three months of attempting the absurd to achieve the impossible.

By three months, your baby…should be able to:

• On stomach, lift head 45 degrees (YES)

…will probably be able to:

• Laugh out loud (not yet…but she coos when excited)
• On stomach, lift head up 90 degrees (YES)
• Squeal in delight (not yet…but so close! Does cooing in delight count?)
• Bring both hands together (YES)
• Smile spontaneously (YES)
• Follow an object held about 6 inches above baby’s face moved 180 degrees with baby watching all the way (YES)

…may possibly be able to:

• Hold head steady when upright (YES)
• On stomach raise chest supported by arms (YES)
• Roll over (one way) (She’s done it twice from her back to her front. She rolls to her side.)
• Grasp rattle held to backs or tips of fingers (YES)
• Pay attention to an object as small as a raisin (YES)

…may even be able to:

• Bear some weight on legs when held upright (YES)
• Reach for an object (YES…the evil elephant and her dolly. And a stuffed monkey, apparently.)
• Keep head level with body when pulled to sitting (YES)
• Turn in a direction of a voice, particularly mommy’s (YES)
• Say “ah-goo” or similar vowel-consonant combination (Not quite – says, “Ahooooo”)
• Razz (Not yet.)

More alike than different.