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…

I miss him.
Especially at nighttime. As soon as the house is surrounded by the darkness and the creaks of the old structure pick up, I feel on edge, I feel alone. I woke up three times last night — conducive to my bathroom visit schedule but not to gaining much-needed rest.
But the daytime hours get me through; the love of friends who come to visit and help the minutes pass along.
And a handsome towhead (just for you, Reva) who gets his Momma’s undivided attention one long last time before I go back to work; before we become a family of four in a few months. This is something very, very special.

Zack is an amazing little fella and he makes his Momma and Daddy feel so fortunate so much of the time. He babbles little phrases excitedly, battles with friendly kittens, crawls so very, very fast and notes every movement and sound in the room.

And he stands.
He crawls to the middle of the floor, uses arms and legs and stomach muscles to pull himself up, slowly, teetering, to a standing position. He lingers there three, five, eight seconds, and lands with a thump on the floor. Barely there for a second and he tries it again.

I simultaneously hold my breath and cheer with loud clapping every single time. He seems so tall, he seems so fearless. What was I ever worried about?

And I’ve been told I need to dedicate more lovin’ to Lil Miss Z. She is is large enough for me to feel her twists and turns and small enough to do a somersault in my stomach at least every 23 seconds. (She’s between papaya and grapefruit size… which just makes me hungry for fruit). Our last doctor’s visit two weeks ago was uneventful and the only major “milestone” coming up is my gestational diabetes testing in a couple of weeks.
We are slowly but surely coming up with a list of duplicate items we need (another crib, yes… a double stroller, perhaps…) and Scott has been making terrific headway finishing up our basement project and clearing out the old office which will be Lil Miss’s nursery in a few months. I’m starting to get excited about our little girl, although not quite the level of pink-shag-carpet-on-the-ceiling-in-celebration level that my husband is at currently. I pick out an outfit (usually blue or yellow or purple) and am told that No, actually all girls are required to wear strawberry-and-flowers decorated dresses with ruffly underwear and matching headbands. We’ll see if I get my tomboy.

Two things of note before I bombard you with photos from the last couple of weeks:
- There are only six weeks until 3-21, World Down Syndrome Day, a fantastic opportunity to reflect on Down Syndrome, learn more about DS and spread the word about DS.
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- Also, please check out this touching video done by my Mommy Blogger “Friend” Kelle Hampton, whose daughter Nella just turned 2 (and has helped raise $200,000 for the National Down Syndrome Society).
“Down Syndrome doesn’t define our family…”

And now, I present without further ado, photos of my handsome little man. Have a great weekend!

But it’s a lonely place, a scary place, too. There is darkness; mystery; uncertainty.

I’ve been in and out of the woods a lot of times in my life. It’s what makes me the person I am today, for better and for worse.

My mother passed away when I was 10 years old — when life is about the next field trip and your circle of friends. I spent at least another 10 years fluctuating between missing her and hating her and wishing with all of my heart that she was in this miserable forest with me. And gradually I came out of that place. Gradually, I came out of the woods.

And there were the seven-plus years that I destroyed my body; where every meal was a battle and the fewer the calories, the better I thought I would feel. I was told by strangers, and then professionals and then acquaintances and then the people I loved most that I was losing a fight against myself. And I emerged. Perhaps not ever completely. I’m close enough to the edge of the forest to feel that I’ve overcome, though. One day at a time.

I lost myself to a man who never deserved me once and in doing so, I wasted a lot of time and have a couple of years that make up my only true regrets. That time, I came running out from under the trees… and funnily enough, into the arms of a country boy who loves me and holds my hands every time I’m scared.

We fell in love, we got married and we got pregnant.
And then our family “got” Down Syndrome.
And I retreated deep into the woods. As far in as I could go; where it was so desolate that not a single owl could be found; not a single bit of green; all black.

I don’t know if Down Syndrome is something you can ever use “out of the woods” with — Zack has been doing amazing every step of the way and we count our blessings when we hear of side effects and huge health ailments we haven’t had to experience. We work every moment on exercises and therapies — praying he’ll walk; hoping he’ll talk; wishing for a happily-ever-after. Maybe he won’t walk until he’s 20. Maybe not until he’s 5. Maybe not at all. That’s the thing about Down Syndrome — it’s a road map without words or highways or a key to use. Squiggles in a general direction; detours you are never prepared for but you take just the same. There are a lot of woods.

It has taken me two weeks to write about our visit to the specialist. I tell myself I’ve just been busy, but maybe it means I’ve been trying to find my way to a clearing in the woods, where the air is lighter and the sun is brighter and my country boys are in front of me in a valley of flowers.

We found out two things about Baby Z2B 2.0 on Jan. 3:
- That our newest addition is indeed a little girl.
- And that she has no visible markers (via Phase Two Ultrasound) of Down Syndrome.
A 28-year-old mother typically has a 1-in-1,000 chance of having a baby born with DS. A 28-year-old mother whose first child was diagnosed with DS has a 1-in-100 chance of having a second child born with DS. But a 28-year-old woman with no visible markers on her second baby’s ultrasound has a less-than-one-percent chance of having her second baby born with DS.

It should have been relief. Those perfectly-beating heart chambers and the ability to have both our babies born in the same hospital; no need for specialists, no need for another 20 weeks of worry. But, why then, was I still holding my breath as we walked to the parking lot and in every moment since then?

I’m afraid that declaring Little Miss “out of the woods” is the worst thing I could do. My chances weren’t that great of having DS the first time around and it was never picked up on any ultrasound or test with Z-Man prior to his birth. So who’s to say DS isn’t lurking in our little girl as well? Who’s to say we won’t see the same tests on her Birth Day; won’t make a decision to send a chromosome test away for the delivery of bad news an agonizing week later?

If I declare our daughter “out of the woods”, aren’t I declaring Zack to forever be trapped in the woods by himself?

The ultrasound reduced our chances but did not give us a yes or a no. It did not make easy the planning of our futures — all four of us. I will still go into a delivery room sometime in May not knowing the biggest question on my mind.

But I do know one thing — this little girl is loved; loved as much as a mother can love her child, perhaps setting a new world record, just like we do with her big brother. I know she and Z-Man will both be given an equal, solid, strong foundation with which to build their independent, lesson-learning, woods-clearing lives.

I am brave enough to tred slowly, cautiously, toward the forest’s edge. Branches breaking beneath my feet with a crunch-crunch noise that makes my little boy giggle; snow accumulating on a little girl’s pink boots. My gloved hand wrapped tightly to my best friend, his brown-green eyes looking at me with a joke dancing in them.

I hope my bravery lasts for a few more months. I hope we don’t get hospital room no. 157. I hope that unlike her brother, Little Sister will come into this world screaming like Hell. And then I hope our little family of four lives our own version of happily-ever-after, whatever that means and includes; I hope we pick each other up and run into the woods for explorations, always returning to a trusty clearing.

We have purchased no plane tickets to Italy and have not studied a word of its’ language, just in case we wind up in Holland again.

We ride on the wind, trusting it’s every sway to take us to where we belong and where we can handle anything and everything we are given.

Where inspiration comes in many forms.

I hope that Scott is able to look up at me on the day of our daughter’s birth, tears in his eyes, mouthing the words and phrases I’ve imagined since our ultrasound two weeks ago:

“She is healthy. She is good.”

Please take a moment to reflect on another beautiful little girl and to help her Momma’s quest to make a real difference. It’s Kelle Hampton’s 2 for 2 National Down Syndrome Society fundraiser and it’s for all of the Nellas and Zacharys and BabyZ2B2.0′s out there.

It’s all about acceptance. Of your situation and of the many, many people that will make up your life and our world.

It’s about knowing when you need to come out of the woods, even if life doesn’t bring you there itself.

We already knew that Zack was adored and understood and truly loved by cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, but it doesn’t take away from how beautiful it is to see that love unfold in front of our eyes. To see the inhaling of his baby scent; the babbling right there with him; the sharing of favorite toys and precious moments.

My family — both sides– are passionate creatures. We love tirelessly and sometimes, that crazy love comes in crazy forms. But if your family doesn’t have a bit of crazy in them, I just don’t know how you can love ’til the ends of the earth; how you can share your heart with someone else.

Love came in many forms that week in Massachusetts and New Jersey. I felt so at peace, as always, driving past the colonial homes and rolling hills of New England. Despite the fact that I never lived there, it’s where I feel most in a state of pure comfort; where my soul rests and grins.

We quietly celebrated as my strong, amazing aunt checked yet another milestone off on her unexpected journey. And we were given a lot of Chicky Kisses. No one was spared!

And my two guys did nothing but help my love for my family grow. I embraced the extra seconds and minutes and hours and days with them, from first-morning babbles to lights-out. And I watched my husband be the amazing father that he is. And that Little Man of mine was the star of the show everywhere we went, practicing his standing, sharing his babble-y thoughts and giving cuddles and snuggles to all with open arms.

Like any vacation or special occasion, it did of course end too quickly. But I came away feeling oh-so-blessed and oh-so-loved. We are already talking visits and get-togethers and summer vacations and train rides. And I hope it all comes true.

Because feeling this loved, loving this much, shouldn’t happen just once a year.

Your daddy and big brother and I are going to see movies and pictures of you today and I wanted to write you a letter before we “saw” you for the first time.

You see, the very good doctor is going to be looking for things that are wrong with you.
But I already know that you’re perfect.
You could have three eyeballs or 12 toes or a large heart or a small heart or a sick heart and you will still be loved with all of my heart. You could be a little boy or a little girl and I’ll love you all the same.
You could have a name like Down Syndrome attached to your world. And guess what? Momma will love you and will do everything in her power to give you the best possible life, bigger than anything you could ever dream.

I need to start by apologizing to you, dear baby. You see, I’ve been unfair a few times. Aside from the Cokes I drink on long days and all the Mexican food I put you through a couple of months ago, I’ve also spent way too much time thinking about all those things above. I’ve spent more time wondering if you would be “okay”, knowing it didn’t really even matter, rather than talking to you, rubbing your little home and meeting you in a quiet, pensive place. I’ve sung Christmas songs since mid-November and have blasted Eminem too many times for your innocent ears to hear.

But do you remember the first time I told you I loved you? The day we found out you were going to be in our world, that September day that seems so long ago? I meant it then, but it’s grown in four months and, some days, I just want to scream it from the roof, even if I’m afraid of heights.

You have so much love waiting for you outside of that squishy place you’ve been calling home.
We have a house that we have made our own, with nooks and crannies for you to play and hide in and plans for a really lovely nursery we hope you’ll enjoy. You have a backyard and a great little quiet town with neighbors who will always wave “hello” when we go for a walk. You have three kittens who will tolerate petting and tail-pulling (although you’ll eventually get yelled at for that one) and two puppies that will keep you giggling when they go running past you.

You have a Daddy who is one of the funniest people in this world. He makes your Momma laugh all the time. He’s a little too manly for kisses and hugs sometimes, but never too macho to sneak in a back rub, a pat on the head and a whispered “I love you” when he thinks no one is listening. He loves sports and his little yappy doggy and most especially you, your brother and your Momma. He listens to a lot of country music and does a fierce imitation of Shania Twain on karaoke, but we love him just the same. I don’t believe there’s a better Daddy in the world.

And you have the world’s best Big Brother. Zack is going to be about 22 months older than you. I hope you two will be best friends forever. I hope you will help each other and love each other; call each other when you’re older and living apart and watching the stars together in the backyard when you’re kids. Zack may have a tough road ahead of him and I hope that you are patient and understanding and supportive. These things already have and always will get our family through the toughest times. There may come a time when you’ll have to show Zack how to do things, even though you’re younger than him — I hope you don’t mind, and I hope that you’re a great teacher! And there is a chance that you and Zack may have a lot in common, and if that’s the case, your Momma and Daddy will be ready. Your brother already has a very sweet, snuggly personality and has the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

I wonder what you’ll be like.
But I don’t plan any big plans for you. It’s not fair. To anyone.

I have dreams. And sometimes, I have nightmares where I worry about you and your brother. I cry a lot for you and I haven’t even met you. But I cry out of love. And lately, I’ve been laughing a lot more than I’ve been crying.

You have a lot of people waiting to meet you… friends and cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents all over the country just thinking happy thoughts for you and eagerly anticipating your arrival this spring. There are a few people who you’ll never meet; people I will tell you about all the time; people who loved you before they ever knew you; people who will always be a part of your life.

But for now, my love, relax and enjoy the ride. Sometimes I walk too far and drive too fast, but I’ll try to keep things comfy for you.

I can’t wait until I meet you.

… an adventure.

… throat-clogging lows.

… heart-pumping highs.

It was the year that was understanding. And acceptance. Both long overdue.

Where small triumphs yielded loud, triumphant applause.

It was the year that was risky. Whose risks brought rewards. And peace. Risks that showed us who we were and taught us never to think we were at where we were going to end.

This. This was the year where “what if” was brought up once, maybe twice, (and maybe 200 times) as we contemplated expansion and the future of our family.

There was loss. No more travel logs from Asia, but still I hold tight to the memories. The memories, the photos, the love and all those newspapers from places far away. The last stares at a nephew in his first swim, soaking it all in.

And then, as that circle of life will do, after loss came growth. A positive test, met not by the excited screams we had two years ago, but instead the hold-your-hand-through-this-roller coaster embrace; the in-it-no-matter-what familiar kiss.

It’s been a year of risks. Because that’s what you do when you start seeing all of your rewards, your blessings, your gifts… you thank your lord, you cross your fingers, you hold tight to faith. Take two deep breaths, wink at the one you love and jump into that deep end.

Because the good stuff is hidden.

Because it’s buried deep beneath everything else you’re too busy seeing.

It’s there.

And we found it, slowly but surely, this year.

No one knows what 2012 holds in store for us all.

If we’re really, truly, unbelievably lucky, there will be a little brother or sister for Z-man. There will be tiny fingers that won’t stay small all that long. There will be long, exhausting nights and days and definitely a lot of laughter. Because that’s how we roll ’round here.

2012 is a mystery. But it wasn’t so long ago that 2011 was its own little secret.

And I’m almost sad to see it go.

But so ready to put my hands up in the air and feel a fast breeze roll through my fingers. I’ll close my eyes tight and then I’ll be a brave lil girl and open them up wide so I can watch every second of the ride. And I’ll smile a time or two when it’s all over, amazed and proud that I made it; that I even attempted it.

One day at a time.

Ready? We’ll do it together.

Here we go…

We survived Santa and now it’s time for holidays and home. A symbolic trip, me and my carpenter husband traveling with an unborn baby (and hopefully a sleeping big brother in the carseat) through Bethlehem (PA) in the middle of the night at Christmas time on a journey to our homeland (OK, the place where a lot of my family lives now) for finding the true meaning of Christmas. (And to lose Z-man to a plethora of kisses and snuggles and gleeful big-cousin games).
We leave for Massachusetts and New Jersey Christmas night and will be back in time to ponder the last year and plan (but not too much planning) the next one.
May you find the meaning of your Christmas and ponder the past just enough to get you excited for the future. And may there be kisses and love.
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Our little 16-month-old is not so little and it’s becoming more evident by the day.

Nothing puts it all on display quite like a haircut — The Dude’s fifth haircut!

Before, with Daddy (and Eva the Cat):

After, past bedtime but lookin’ oh-so-handsome:

But it’s more than just the physical things. There is the exploring, the crab-crawling, the grabbing, the laughing, the burst of babbles, the messes, the tickles, the beauty of any given simple moment.

There is the exercising, the practicing, the standing, the self-feeding; the thousand clues that hard work really does pay off if you just don’t give up.

Zack had his most recent check-up at the pediatrician yesterday and all went well! Dr. D. was impressed with his mouth full of teeth (at least five have poked through!), his quick crawl, amazing appetite and our many other exciting moments we can’t help but brag about — including Dr. D’s newest patient next year, Baby Z2b 2.0!

We practice the word “baby” and the phrase “big brother” with Z-Man, but Dude would much prefer to try “ball” or “book.” At least he’s not crying when we say “big brother” to him like he did at first.

It’s hard not to get a bit sentimental and reflective this time of year, but I’m overall really happy with our little world. We are in a better place than we were this time last year and we have an incredible year and future ahead of us.

But it’s still just one day at a time.

One precious moment at a time.

One.

Thanks for reading!

Oh, and the new socks game.

Zack has a thing about socks. The thing is he hates them.

His therapists, especially our OT Miss Charity, are working on de-sensitizing his hands and feet. Part of that is the never-ending battle to keep his socks on.

The last couple of days, the socks have gone on and within seconds, they’re off, two tiny pieces of color flashing in the air as Z-Man waves them around in his hands excitedly.

He even pets his feet as if to say “Don’t worry, I’ve freed you!”

Then, there is the scurrying, mostly via crab crawl, to the basement door, where Zack takes his socks and one by one throws them down the cat door, which then turns into a game with Rocky the Cat.

It’s hysterical to watch it all unfold.

Speaking of therapists, Zack’s therapy is going really, really well. He’s been playing in buckets of rice with some of his toys buried inside, buckets of beans (all to help with the desensitization of his hands and feet), eating better on his own and standing so strong. He’s also taking as many as 20 or 30 steps while you hold his hand and he’s gotten brave enough to let go a handful of times, usually resulting in a face plant for now, but success for sure in the near future.

In therapy with his Special Instructor Miss Sheri this week, Z-Man helped make a snowman! It was so darned cute, even if all he really did was help push the pieces into the right places. It now sits atop our fireplace next to the little handprint we made with him last year.

We may not have gotten our snow last night, but that beautiful wintertime cozy still winds its way around our home. I’ve been so grateful to have two consecutive days off with my Little Man and so absolutely content with our wintertime world, snowmen and socks and all.

Hope you find your own Wintertime Cozy. Enjoy every smell and sight and sound.

And snuggles. Get yourself some snuggles.