“I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.”

~Audrey Hepburn

Today is a day for miracles. Today is a day for happy girls, little girls, big girls, and new-to-the-world girls.  Today is a day for beaming mommas.  And today is a day for the 100th post on the ZeeFamily blog.  

Addison Caroline Zook made her grand debut this afternoon at 3:51pm.  She made Zachary a big brother. I’m sure she made Wendy and Scott cry.  And she already started wrapping the world around her little finger.  

Wendy and Scott had a scheduled C-section this afternoon.  Friends across Pennsylvania and spread out across the country waited anxiously for the big news today.  This morning we chatted over Z-man’s breakfast and Wendy lamented the fact that she couldn’t even swallow a drop of water from her toothbrush.  She and Scott were cracking jokes about that afternoon’s surgery, eager for it to be over but determined to enjoy the day.  

Little Addison Caroline weighed in at 8 pounds 1 ounce, and measured 19 inches long.  Her elated momma has texted me the word “lovely” at least three times now to describe her precious little daughter. She is healthy and has had a wonderful first day in this world…. and for all those of you that might have been wondering, there are no signs of DS or anything.  

Wendy and Scott are elated with the arrival of their little Addie.  Please send your well-wishes their way, and I’m sure that Wendy will have pictures to share soon.  

Welcome to the world, Addison Caroline.

I didn’t know what would happen in Aug. 2010, the last time we stood at the doorstep of a month that would make us parents. I know I didn’t say “Rabbit, rabbit.” I didn’t know our world would be lifted up and thrown about like a boomerang, this way and that way and that way again.

So, restless, nervous, tired from being restless and nervous, I rolled over yesterday morning, held Scott as tight as I could and whispered “Rabbit, rabbit.”
Just in case.

We had an ultrasound on Monday and Little Miss is looking very healthy. She was head-down (yay for learning the error of her naughty ways when she was breech the week before and Mommy threatened 18 years of grounding!) and is measuring larger and further along. This really could happen at any time. My aching body rejoices knowing that these last few tweaks and pains and sleepless nights won’t last for long and soon, very soon, I could be holding our baby girl.

I have just one more week of work before I become a full-time Momma for three months. I battled for a while as to how long I would work and how long I would take off to be with my two, count ‘em TWO kiddos. I know I’ve done well and made it far and I’m proud of the way I’ve handled myself despite the four months’ of morning sickness, the two months’ of Mexican cravings and the nine months of hormones and emotions. I’ve had support and concern and great soothing wise voices and tips and laughter, and I guess that’s what they meant at my New Hire Orientation when they said our team was more of a family than anything else.

So aside from yet another load of baby laundry (we are loved, we are loved) we’re pretty much physically and mentally and emotionally as ready for her arrival as we’ll ever be.
I will pack my hospital bag differently this time.
I will not take solid foods for granted.
I will be prepared with five different phone numbers to text or call for the five different scenarios I will need to handle with screams or tears or happy blubbers when I’m all alone in a hospital room. (I’m hoping for happy blubbers)

I’ve always hated May. It’s a dreadful month for me.
There is the annual celebration of all things Mother. And then the day that I no longer had one.

My original due date was two days before the day my mom passed away and I spent two days crying alone at night, wondering what sort of cruel joke I’d be handed next. It doesn’t look like we’ll make it to that date and whether or not that’s for better or worse, I’ll let Little Miss come on the day she was meant to debut and we’ll figure the rest out later.

I don’t know how I’ll handle a mother-daughter relationship after so many years without one of my own.
I’ve had great maternal influences, don’t get me wrong — my Aunt Alice has turned into someone I know I can trust with any revelation big or small and after the past year, I know we’ve got each other each and every time the world brings us down; I had a very good relationship with my Mother-in-Law for quite some time and I’m grateful for those memories and bonding moments; and my stepmother, through her role as a Nana, has shown me maternal qualities I never realized existed in that woman I once couldn’t understand.
I’ve got lots of great ladies in my life, though. Some of them mothers and some of them not.

My sister Melinda was the first person I ever told about Down Syndrome. It took 20 minutes to type the words in my phone after Scott left to run some errands shortly after our pediatrician delivered the news. I just had to tell her. She’s been there ever since, even if she’s thousands of miles away.

And I’ve got cousins, like Becky, who make me want to be a better Mom, a better person; who make me want to make tough decisions with strength and faith and the knowledge that it will really all be OK.

And my friends. A girl can only say she’s lucky so many times before people start to roll their eyes, but really I am so blessed. Old friends (I love you Jeans and Kacey and Allison) and my newer, local friends who are literally just down the road when I need them (I’m starting to get too many to name… I love you, I love you, I love you.)

So, I pray that their influences on my life, all of them, big and small, will be enough to help me become the best mother I can be to the little girl I never knew if I could handle having. The little girl who has already tested me so much; who I’m positive will keep me on my toes and show me love I never knew I could experience.

So we’re a-marchin’. One day at a time, one smile-inducing moment with our son at a time. Zack is standing more and walking (with assistance) all around the house. He is climbing steps like a pro and using his signs often. He loves “reading” his many books and is still too rough when petting Rocky the Cat, who puts up with it anyway. If you ask Zack for a hug, he will throw his arms around your neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, sometimes adding in a pat on your back. He kisses his toys, he waves “hello” and “goodbye” and he eats more food than a toddler should ever fit in their stomach at one time. He’s good with strangers and yet has a special connection to certain loved ones in his life. He loves watching the world outside from our front door and even more so enjoys walks down the street, especially if the puppies join us.

There are so few moments left with the three of us as a family. I plan to enjoy them all to the fullest.

And though I’m the happiest I’ve been in quite some time, I still believe in silly phrases on the first of the month. But I believe more in creating happiness from sadness and learning lessons from the littlest bits of life.

I still believe that May could be a pretty amazing month.

I do it all the time, but especially recently.

The start of spring, the upcoming growth of our family from three to four, visits and surprises and all the ordinary moments too; I’m taking a lot more time-outs and I’m hitting Pause as often as I possibly can.

My love for my son, my husband, my friends, my family has never been stronger. Nor has their love for me and my world.

My Dad and stepmother came out to visit a couple of weeks ago and their whirlwind of a stay was just what the doctor ordered. Just to have them sleeping in a room in the hotel that I dedicate so much of my time; to have them sitting in our living room watching their grandson’s latest tricks.. it was so easy and comforting.

My Dad’s magic as a grandfather is just incredible. Zack’s every move and giggle just lights him up from the inside out and Zack is so obviously comfortable and in love with his PopPop. I spent so many moments that weekend just willing the clock to slow down, begging myself to never forget these moments.

And just a couple of days later, Massachusetts plates found their way in front of our home. My dear friend Nicole, who stumbled into my life in a study abroad program in South America nearly seven years ago, sacrificed most of her school’s break and traveled nine-plus hours to the country to squeeze in one visit with Zack before he became a big brother.

It’s so easy to play host when she’s in town. She makes herself at home and never once feels like a guest; it always feels like she was meant to be right there in the room blowing bubbles with our boy and quietly observing the everyday moments of our lives. She just fits. It was a beautiful week, and a relaxing week and I felt myself drawn even closer to her by the end of her time with us.

And she takes great photos, which appeals to my always-got-my-camera way of life. (New photography business and corresponding blog/website on its way…!)

And I thought to myself, Self, it just doesn’t get any better.
And then, me and Self were proven wrong.
With a surprise baby shower from local friends.

I thought I was going to a bowling banquet to support Scott. I dragged my feet. I almost faked contractions. And I was so dense that I still didn’t even put the pieces together until thirty seconds AFTER I walked in, saw some of our friends, noticed the Baby Shower signs and balloons… and had a girlfriend ask, “Were you surprised?”
(I was going to say yeah, this is the best bowling banquet I’ve ever seen…”)

Because it was a surprise, I didn’t even have my camera, but my friends have all promised me photos from the evening.

Just know this: Some of the most important people in my life were in that room and every single one of them have been there in some great respect during our journey these past two years. Some have struggled with us; some have learned from us; some struggle now; some pick us up before we even realize we’ve fallen. All love us.

I was so quiet the whole time, this I know. I just kept thinking over and over: “You lucky girl, you lucky girl, you lucky girl.” I just kept hitting that pause button to soak it all in.

The balance of not too much pink.
The gifts, the gifts, the gifts!
The most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen! (There’s a baby butt in my fridge!)
The nods from across the room. I-get-it; I’m-here.
The sharing of and passing back and forth of beautiful children; kids I hope Zack always can count on as friends.
The laughter.

And then I got in the car and squeezed Scott’s hand and cried the happiest tears I’ve shed in 20 months. Talk about full circle, baby.

Scott and I have shared a lot of special moments lately. Our friendship, our love, just keeps on growing. I keep hitting new peaks I didn’t know were possible, and while the realist and pessimist and girl-who’s-lived-it knows, it can all come crashing down. But I know that I’ve never been more prepared for it, never been as strong as I am now. No matter what happens, my support and foundation is just incredible. Not invincible, not cocky, just living.

Today, Zack had his six-week follow-up from his surgery last month. It was short, it was sweet and it’s all over. One more checkmark on the list; one more sigh of relief.

At my doctor’s today, I was told that a repeat C-Section is a pretty likely bet this time around; and that our timeline has just gotten bumped up to as soon as two weeks or so from now. Unexpected? Yes. Unmanageable? No. We’re ready to meet Little Miss and we would sell our souls to make her healthy and happy and to offer her the love and acceptance and support that so many have already given her big brother.

Bring on the obstacles; bring on the challenges. They are all gifts. They are all opportunities.

Our Down Syndrome journey has brought us down a path to people like Pam and Maddy with the National Down Syndrome Society who have been patient and helpful and loving as always; whose dedication to improving the lives of and advocating for children like Zack is a beautiful thing. This week, they’ve helped our family condense our two fundraisers into one. With their help, we’ve created a big of magic: a celebration of the more than $3,000 raised in these past 9 months and the goal of $2,000 more before Little Sister joins our family.

You can visit our new site and donate here.

And even more astonishing? Our family’s fundraising efforts have been featured as a profile on the NDSS Your Way website, visible here.

So we continue to soak in these last couple of weeks as a family of four; as two individuals so unbelievably lucky to be so loved by so many.

We will enjoy the moment, we will brace ourselves for impact incase the sky shall fall, and then we will turn those lemons into lemonade and drink, drink it all up.

Healing is a bit like watching a flower bloom. You don’t really know when it’s going to happen, and despite the fact that you might be sitting there in front of barren ground attempting to will a bare stem to blossom, it doesn’t happen on command. No, it is gradual. Like time-lapse photography. And as you are sitting, waiting, pleading for growth, you eventually begin to forget that you are waiting until suddenly, days later, you look and behold… a bloom.

Mom Blogger and Internet Friend Kelle’s poignant capture of those first few days in her Florida hospital just seven months before our Z-Man was born hit a deep part of my heart that I had pretty much boarded up, one piece of scrap wood at a time, these past 20 or so months. Ripping those pieces of wood off this week is much more healing than I could have imagined, even if it was a bit painful at times. I have to admit that after Chapter One, I laid the book down and spent an hour cleaning all of the windows in our house, trying to wipe away those private images she seemed to have stolen from our own journey.

My friend Nicole is reading Bloom as well, and I love that. I love that I have friends who have pre-ordered a novel so closely related to our own journey just because they get it.
Or my friend Krystal, who didn’t have to say anything other than to call her when I had my meltdown next month, because it would come. Because she gets the significance of missing my mom and starting a mother-daughter relationship right around Mother’s Day. Because she understands the journey we could be thrown any day now.

Friendships bloom, too, and usually when you’re not looking.

My trusty Word Search book became the most recent tablet for hit-you-hard random thoughts the other day when I was getting some prenatal testing for blood sugar and anemia done at the hospital where Zack was born and where Little Miss Jellybean will be joining our world next month. I can’t stop the notes, the inspiration some days. I use the backs of business cards if I have an idea at work; scrawl on grease-stained napkins with a pencil or a tube of lip gloss to keep a word nearby. I’ve used (clean) diapers and the palm of my hand. But there I was, looking for a word to circle and minding my business in that waiting room the other day when I had.to.write.it.down.

I still hate hospitals. Probably always will. Maybe more so the older I get.

From my seat in the waiting room, I could crane my neck just slightly forward and to the left and see the windows of a hospital room where I processed my new life and journey during five days in this building two Augusts ago. I couldn’t stop staring. I was half-expecting to see a tired young woman cradling a newborn son staring back at me, eyes puffy from tears, new wrinkles and gray hairs and unbelievable exhaustion across her faded smile.

Soon enough, I’ll be down the hall again welcoming another child, another journey. I hope it’s another room. I panic when I think about that room and its layout, the secret moments its walls hold of the days when I thought everything was crumbling down to the ground.

Still, there is a serene happiness at the forefront of my life these days. My world is a collection of images, frozen in time, haphazardly thrown together like a piece of abstract art. The sun of a premature spring warms my hair. The baby calf spotted on a walk down the road with my two guys. That beautiful sound of a growing baby’s heartbeat in a doctor’s room. The voices of loved ones ore the phone; calls that touch me so much and refresh my heart and mind. My son bringing a toy or book over to me. His strengthening legs and feet who are taking more daring, larger steps. My daughter’s pokes and kicks, reminding me of her presence, her love, my love. The best days, those simple moments we’ve been sharing as husband and wife, as friends. The feel of my camera in my hands. The view of the world from its trusty lens.

I love the woman I’ve become, the blessings I’ve been given, the tests that have challenged me, the difference I know I can make through education and advocacy and love and new beginnings. The magic I can create. The bloom I can become.

It’s feeling the spring breeze when Zack and I scurry across a blanket sprawled across the grass but never forgetting where we came from, sad hospital view and all. It’s amazing how much I feel it all.

I am taking in every moment with my son, his last few weeks with a family of three. I am mesmerized by the changes overtaking him every day, the improvements he’s making overnight.

I’m just taking it all in.

And now it’s a beautiful Easter Sunday.

I’ve got the day off and our family is busy enjoying the beauty of the littlest moment. My littlest man is taking a nap. My handsome hubby is beefing up his Tiger Woods Golf character. And that breeze is beckoning to me from the open front door just a few feet away. We will pack ourselves up soon and make the most of this day we’ve been given. There will be talks and walks and grass under our feet and just me, my camera and my guys. And the big round belly to remind me of the joy and journey yet to come.

We will run away and enjoy it and make the most of it all. Because there are more blooms to be discovered and more blooming to be done.

I love you. Have loved you since the moment I learned you were coming into our lives.

It’s been a more subtle excitement with this pregnancy than it was when we were preparing for your brother’s arrival. Not less excited, just less in-your-face attitude.

You move in my stomach so much more than your brother did; it’s almost as though you don’t want to be forgotten, not even for a second. You have great aim, too, if you’ve been looking to hit my ribs or spine. You are a definite mover.

If your time in the womb is any indication, you’re going to be a lot like your Momma, just like your brother has mimicked a lot of Daddy’s personality traits. The men in our lives are calm, mellow, easy-going. Your Momma has to be kept busy and on the move at all times. My to-do list is always a few pages long and my dream-big list is even longer. I’m stubborn and I have a temper, so I hope you don’t inherit those traits, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

We’ve known your name for months now. Well, your daddy knew your name before there even was a you. It’s so fun calling you by your name, so much more real to talk about when ____ _____ will join us. (Psh, we have to keep SOMETHING a secret!)

Your daddy made a video recently about your brother’s first 18 months (Zack’s been a bit of a celebrity hot shot lately… Oh, OK, enough about him, you’re right…) and I can’t stop watching the images in it. I had forgotten about some of those early moments with your brother… the getting-to-know-each-other in a hospital room… your daddy putting a ball in his hands in the first week… the visitors rocking you with love… and those uncoordinated movements of his fingers and neck and legs.

I can’t wait to share those sort of moments with you, Lil Miss.
As exhausting as a newborn can be (And I’m sure it’s even more fun with a toddler hanging around, too), some of my favorite moments came from late-night rocks in the glider and watching little fingers grab at buttons and zippers during feedings. I can’t wait to kiss you on 50 different places on your little face. I plan on kissing both eyelids and both cheeks several times. I will smooch the heck out of the top of your head, too.

So, a recent e-mail tells me you’re about the size of a squash. All that does for me is make me hungry.

There are still a lot of uncertainties. We don’t know when you’ll decide to come see our world; we don’t even know by which delivery method. A lot of that depends on how many jellybeans you’ve really eaten and whether or not you’re really “lil” at all.

We certainly don’t know yet if you’ll be healthy and what that even means anymore. I just know that I will love you with all of my heart, accept your every challenge and quirk and attitude with every fiber of my being. That you will early on realize unconditional love and fierce love and know I have nothing else to give.

You should be head-down on Week 32 of our journey together, but we’ll find out at our next doctor’s appointment and ultrasound in the next week or two. It will be nice to see another picture of your beautiful self.

Speaking of pictures, you better be prepared for some serious camera flashes. Your Momma will be the biggest culprit, and I promise to use natural lighting for as long as possible, but once you get on the move, there’s no holding back for the flash to capture a great shot, OK?

Every day, at least once, I stop by your crib in your nearly-completed room (We need a few decor items and some crib sheets but are almost done getting ready for your debut). I run my hand over the now-empty space six inches above the crib mattress. I imagine I’m running my hand against peach fuzz hair and a rising chest in soft fabrics. If I’m not careful, I get so lost in my imaginings at that crib that I can very easily let 10 minutes pass by without realizing it.

You’re so close to being in my arms. I’m so close to meeting you in person; to counting your toes and thanking all my lucky stars and many blessings that you made it to me and your Daddy and your Big Brother.

Whether you realize it or not, you’re making a difference in this world. You see, your Birth Day is the deadline for a fundraiser your family is doing for the National Down Syndrome Society. We hope to raise… wait for it… $5,000. That money will make a difference in advocacy programs, education and research related to Down Syndrome. It will make a difference not only in your brother’s life and future, but yours as well. It will make our lives even better and even richer and even more rewarding than we could ever imagine. I’m hoping your aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins and friends and friends of friends and sons and daughters of friends will all want to help you with your mission, especially since your hands are tied, er, stuck in the womb, at the moment.

I haven’t forgotten you at all, Lil Miss Z.
And I love you so, so much.

See you soon!
xoxo
Momma

PS – Get off my ribs, you naughty girl!

I probably couldn’t have stated a single DS fact in that moment; I just thought “bad” over and over and over again.

I remember Down Syndrome, making us apologize to the uncomfortable doctor as if it was his inconvenience we placed in his world instead of the other way around.

I remember Down Syndrome, stunning my husband, my best friend, into a numbing silence for hours. Until he broke down in the dark hours later, dreams of baseball streaming down his cheeks and apologies from him to me as if it was all his fault.

I remember Down Syndrome, a deep secret we held onto in privacy for days before a positive chromosome test gave us no choice but to share, learn, educate, change.

I remember Down Syndrome defeating us for a few days, a few weeks. I remember getting so pissed off one day that this stupid diagnosis was winning; that sympathy cards from strangers were not a proper substitute from Congratulations cards from loved ones. We still had a new baby. We still had a healthy new baby.

I remember deciding, very early on, that Down Syndrome would never beat us again. I remember vowing to defeat it every day for the rest of my life.

And so while the early days of August 2010 destroyed us because of Down Syndrome, we now have March 21 every year to reflect on the normalcy and beauty of our life. We now have the memory of the journey to make us stronger, to carry us through, to make us work harder and spread the word of our amazing son and the power of his big blue eyes.

So this month we’ve shared facts and dispelled myths about Down Syndrome; truths we learned the hard way and first hand.
This week, we created a video of our son and some of our favorite moments — the accomplishments, the giggles, the smiles, the everyday things. I’m so proud of those four minutes, and the words “let my love open the door” repeating over and over as my child smiles at me.

And now today, my two guys are joining me at the local TV station to share our story, Zack’s story. To tell as many people as we can that we have not been beaten, destroyed or even let down by this diagnosis.

When tragedy befalls you, don’t let it get you down. Love can cure your problems; you’re so lucky I’m around.

Zachary had his surgery last week, and as minor as it was, try telling a mother that anything involving a hospital and her son is minor. I was one big hot mess. I couldn’t focus on anything but my hatred of Down Syndrome and the fact that it brought this cheesy, colorful hospital into my world; that we had to go through worries our friends (fortunately) don’t have to experience. I spent two hours in a waiting room trying to go through the motions of a conversation with my husband and the eating of a simple snack. I spent two hours internally cursing the cruelty and unfairness of the hand Zack had been dealt.

But then I had my little man in my arms; he had wires and IVs and he was having such a tough time coming out of the anesthesia. His heart was racing and the tears couldn’t stop coming. I held him as tight as I could and sang “You are My Sunshine” just like I have almost every night since he was born. I watched his heart rate slow, I felt his fingers work their way through my messy ponytail. And I knew we would all be OK.

There are some days, I just pull my son close to me and I cry for or about Down Syndrome.

There are some days my heart aches at the realization I may never hear him say “I love you, Momma.”

But he can show me his love. And his love has shown me so much already. His love has made me a much, much better person.

And I will share that love, share these lessons, every day for the rest of my life.

Zachary is the best thing to ever happen to me, to us. And it has everything and nothing to do with Down Syndrome.

I remember thinking Down Syndrome was the worst thing ever. I remember Down Syndrome having the upper hand.

I threw out every sympathy card; I burned some bridges; I made some changes. I grew my Fierce Love for my son. I let no one get in the way of that love.

I remember Down Syndrome bringing us unexpected support. I remember Down Syndrome bringing us new friends; friends-for-life-because-of-what-we-share.

I remember when I beat Down Syndrome the first time; when I embraced it instead of shuddered away from it. I remember when we raised $2,000 for the National Down Syndrome Society last year. And the joy and excitement of putting together a new fundraiser in honor of Zack and our growing family this year. (I hope you’ll spread the word and will consider a donation)

I remember Down Syndrome. It’s kind of hard to forget.

But it’s not that “bad” after all.

There’s only one thing that can set you free — that’s my love. That’s my love.

This is an incredibly exciting week for our family. Wednesday is World Down Syndrome Day and we have a few special surprises planned in celebration of this day of awareness and education.

Surprise Number One: Zack’s story is going to be featured on the local TV station Tuesday and Wednesday. The first airing will be either during the 5 o’clock or 6 o’clock news Tuesday on WTAJ (the CBS affiliate out of Altoona) and will consist of pre-recorded information from a taping at our house a week or so ago. The second airing will take place on the same station during the Central PA Live show (4 o’clock show) on Wednesday, along with a live interview. My friend Angie is to thank for this experience — she works at the station, which is a great “in”, but more importantly, as the Mommy of Zack’s Birthday Buddy Chase, I think she understands how important it is to our family to spread awareness of Down Syndrome to as many people as possible.

So set your DVRs and pray my nerves stay intact for just another couple of days. The stations’ website can be seen here.

Zack and I will be attending the local Down Syndrome support group meeting this Monday night, too (along with our dear friends Julie and Zack’s future prom date Miss Olivia, who have supported us through so, so much). I am really looking forward to seeing some we-get-it friends after a bit of a hiatus since our last meeting attendance (due mostly to my work schedule). This is a big week for all of our families and I’m anxious to see where the future of the group lies.

Perhaps our most exciting news comes from a desire to push it a bit further, really make sure we did all we could to make a difference. We have once again created a donation opportunity to the National Down Syndrome Society in Zack’s name to continue research that will make a positive, incredible difference in our son’s future — and the lives of the hundreds of thousands of others who turn around every negative myth about DS with every heart-stopping smile and told-you-so accomplishment.

(You can find our donation page here, and I’ll be creating a link on the side of our blog’s home page, too). We have set a pretty hefty goal of $5,000, with a deadline of Little Sister’s Birth Day, sometime in mid-May. The funds we raise through your love of Zack will really and truly make a difference; I’m still amazed at all of the things that NDSS is able to accomplish and offer. And I can’t say enough about the support and comfort they’ve brought our family.

So, to jumpstart our donation appeal, I came up with an idea and my handsome hubby executed it even better than I had imagined. It’s a collection of our most private, personal and beautiful family moments these past 19 months, starting with a completed nursery and running through therapy visits, playmates, puppy and kitty time, family lovins, all the way to our first crawl, first standing, first steps and even our recent hospital stay.

It’s four minutes that show that the journey we’ve been placed on isn’t one we were expecting, nor one we had planned for; but it’s a journey that has brought us so much happiness and taught us so very, very much… about love, about success, about the glue that holds us each together.

It’s Z-Man, plain and simple — all his smiles, all his drool, all his happiness that he has shared with us; it’s all of the things he’s taught us that we can only share with others.

I hope you will spread the word this week about our support group, about our news stories, about our video and our donation page; most important of all, I urge you to continue to spread what you’ve learned from us about Down Syndrome to your loved ones. We can make a difference.

Let Zack’s love open the door…

Pause button, please!

When we say “Time for Night-Night,” he turns from wherever he is in the house, crawls to the first landing and points up, then begins the slightly awkward shuffle of left foot up, right foot up, balancing butt up off the stairs as his hands keep grasping upwards.

When he sees a dog or a cat go up the stairs, he feels the need to follow, to explore, and then to torture them in rooms previously off limits to his imagination and exploration.

If he hears a noise upstairs or is tired of waiting for Momma or Daddy to come back down, he just finds them in his own way, his own time.

He’s getting bigger and braver and making his Momma bite her lip and hold back her own crazy, selfish fears as she applauds his every courageous moment.

Z-Man’s not just a courageous lil boy, he’s a mischievous little bugger, too. Remember throwing socks down the cat door? Well now, he throws everything down the little hole, peering down to giggle at his nifty trick.
His toys, cat toys, paper towel holders from the recycling pile, empty cereal boxes, toilet paper scraps… you name it, he’s probably thrown it down the basement steps with a maniacal laugh.

And as much as The Dude’s been turning into a clingy Momma’s boy and sharing a kiss or two with my belly lately, he is still so in love with his Daddy, and his Daddy has just blossomed, almost overnight, to the most amazing father I could ever imagine for our children.

It was Scott, excitement in his voice, who told me on my way home from work a few nights ago that Z-Man had a surprise for Momma. And Scott who followed up the stairs behind the Little Man on his first full night of stair-climbing, two Daddy hands just close enough and just far enough behind the little guy to give him room to fall — but just a little — and to succeed — and so, so much.

It is Scott who is teaching himself Sign Language after months of dragging his heels on that area of therapy for Zack.

It is Scott who is patient at mealtime and offers new and exciting things for Z-Man to try.

Scott offers up applause with which I can barely compete. He gives more frequent hugs, he shares more giggles and funny commentary.

I used to think about “Poor Me” a lot when re-living our first few months with Zack and his unexpected diagnosis. But the path Scott had to travel down was sometimes much darker and definitely a longer, windier way, with pain he couldn’t even put into words himself. He suffered… and then he survived. And now, our family is in such a beautiful place.

It’s like Zack senses this healing, too.

Yesterday, he was putting a towel over his head and I called it (and signed) his “hat.” He smiled, crawled up to the chair where Scott’s beloved 13-year-old WVU hat lay, placed it on his head with a huge grin.
“Daddy’s hat,” I said.
And Zack blew kisses to the door, as if in anticipation of Scott’s arrival from work in a short while.

He played with Daddy’s hat for hours and went back for more this morning.

But it’s so much more than that.
It’s the way Scott talks about his soon-to-be-arriving Little Miss. How he rubs my belly before he falls asleep.
It’s the way he kisses Zack’s head every now and then.
How he makes Bathtime so fun for the The Dude that I half-want to jump in myself (if it weren’t for fear of not being able to ever get out!).
It’s the breakfast he made for the two of us the other day… spelling my name out in pancakes and singing songs from a CD I got him for Valentines’ Day.

It’s just the crazy, silly, growing love that is taking over our home, our world lately. (And the Snickers ice cream bars Scott went out and bought me at 8:30 last night help, too)

And it’s all because we made it down this long ole road.
And because we’ll make it through anything. Anything at all.

Today would have been my Mommy’s birthday. She was a Leap Year baby — and another blonde baby, too! I miss her as always, but it’s fun to think of her as a grandmother lately, and the damn good one she probably would have been, too. I imagine a fun grandma, full of spunk and energy.
And I’ve talked about her to Zack a lot today, pointing out pictures and sharing big smiles and big, much-needed hugs.

She is missed and she is loved.

With the beautiful moments I’ve enjoyed of family and accomplishments these past few weeks, I can’t help but be particularly sentimental today.

I’ve been thinking, as I hold my growing belly, about my mother in those months and weeks and hours before she met me for the first time. And I can’t help but think about that mother-daughter bond I’ll soon experience myself.

I rocked a little boy back to sleep in the early hours of this morning and despite my exhaustion and his reluctance to fall back asleep, I loved it. It instantly became one of my favorite moments with the Little Man. Ever. There have been a lot of late-night/early-morning rockings in his baseball-and-puppy covered room. Some of them, in the very, very early days were filled with anger and tears — not toward my son, but toward the hand that had been dealt to him.

I remember staring at those sports scenes on his walls and feeling very, very bitter about the plans we had no business making for him and how we had just set ourselves up for disappointment.

18 months later, less than a month away from our second celebration of World Down Syndrome Day and our family’s attempt at bringing awareness to others, and Down Syndrome isn’t everything. It really isn’t anything. It’s brought us a greater awareness of the little things I think most parents take for granted; it’s brought us three Early Intervention therapists who have become family; it’s brought us an understanding, a peace, a love, that we are so blessed to experience.

18 months ago, my son’s slanted blue eyes brought me a level of sadness I thought was unconquerable. And here we are, just a mother and her son rocking side to side in the quiet darkness of his room. A little hand sliding up and down strands of my hair, a thumb-sucking noise on my shoulder. “Life is good, so beautifully good,” I thought over and over and over.

This past weekend, we went to my Homeland of Jersey. No armpit jokes, no exit questions; this is my home. This is the land of memories and happy times and most importantly, family. We had a lot of that great family time this weekend. We celebrated another blossoming belly and growing family with a baby shower for my cousin, who is one of the most radiant, beautiful mothers-to-be I’ve ever seen.

Zack tried to steal the show and I tried to capture all of these magical moments on camera — my aunt’s first entertainment stint since the passing of her husband last year, thinking about that absolutely insane circle of life and how it was never more evident than on a Saturday afternoon in Bayonne; the bonding between Zachary and his great aunt and great uncle, cousins and grandparents; the love that is found in precise decorating, uncontrollable laughter (and sometimes snorting) and the strength found in the loved ones in that room.

There were a lot of people in that room who had at some point, some of them very recently, been through something they didn’t think they’d survive. And yet there we all were, getting each other through another day, another year. Sharing secrets and plans and dreams and fears. A lot of delicious bread and food, walks to the park, photos of the Bayonne Bridge. And enough love to fill a million party favors or birthday cards.

There’s a sleeping boy upstairs, laundry whirring in the dryer and a cat purring next to me. It’s a simple life, but it’s one I wouldn’t exchange for anything. The weather is supposed to be mild and sunny today and that calls for some time outside with my guy to celebrate my day, but really to celebrate EVERY day.

My birthday wish is simple. I don’t want to forget this euphoria; this feeling of acknowledging that you have no control over life, but you have control over how you react to and how you handle what life offers you, good or bad, ugly or beautiful, expected or unexpected.

To forget that would be my ultimate failure. It would mean the hard lesson learned was for nothing. It would mean that I hadn’t learned to just accept life unconditionally, to live life unconditionally.

Z-Man and I had a great few days.

There was standing. And almost walking! And lots of snuggles, of course. We laughed a lot. We talked a lot. Well, he babbled incomprehensively and I responded with deep thoughts about life.

And we felt a lot of love from a lot of amazing people. So many of Zack’s little friends came to spend time with us. And that meant so, so much to both of us.

It’s been a really, really great few days.

*Remember, 3-21, World Down Syndrome Day, is coming up quickly. Make sure you’ve visited ndss.org and please think about all of our Zacharys and all of our possibilities for tomorrows.

Speaking of 3-21… I’ve been presented with a great honor, a great possibility myself to bring about some awareness in our area. I’m thinking it over and thinking that it requires a little bravery for a lot of that awesome possibility. Zack would want me to, I think. More soon…