Love you, Addie

I feel like sometimes all of my conversations and posts are centered around Zack lately. There’s just so much going on with his schooling, support, changes, that I forget to talk up a storm about his little sister. So consider this a love letter to Addie.

Dear Addison,

I figured you out before you were born. When you were still in my belly, I told everyone that you were going to be a handful. You haven’t let me down.

You are, in many ways, a representation of who I wish I could be. You are stubborn and strong-willed, strong and independent. You are very intuitive and offer the lesser-considered side of any debate.

And your imagination. I love your imagination. I hope it is a hint to a future of creativity and story-telling.

You can turn a blanket into a cape and a tissue makes a tiara. You soak in words and phrases, mull them over ever-so-briefly, and then spit them back out at us in a very short amount of time. You are witty, much more so than most adults I know.

We just recently overcame a period of great difficulty. You pushed my every button and tried to speak your mind, in defiance to me, at every turn. But it seems as though we’ve moved on from there, at least for now. And suddenly, I see this other side of you that I didn’t know you possessed. And it’s actually a large part of who you are right now.

There is love and kindness that comes from you in sweet words.

“I make you happy” is one of my favorites. You tell your favorite toys “I love you and you’ll never be sad again.” I don’t know where you pulled all of that from, but I love that sweetness.

You can be selfless, too. Offering to watch “Mommy’s show” when Zack is at school and helping me so much with cleaning up toys and clearing the table.

I’ve had this semi-irrational fear that somehow Zack’s diagnosis of Down Syndrome and all of the special help he needs will negatively impact you; and it saddens me because you didn’t ask for this.

But there you are, playing with his therapists and his aide, coloring in the next room when Momma almost loses her mind at a school registrar. You may wind up in the same schoolyear as Zack but in a different building in the district. Or you may see firsthand walking the hallways the sort of stereotype that follows your big brother. I hope the sweetness you have started to show continues to grow in your heart. And I hope you know that regardless of Zack’s potential or limitations, you will always have time with us and a special place in our hearts. You are no better or worse than him. no more or less loved. And your possibilities are endless. We will fight as hard for your future as we will for Zack’s.

You have only very recently begun a love for girly-girl things like skirts and princesses. You love to twirl and make up songs. Yet you still have this tomboy side of you, a little rough around the edges, kicking snowpiles in your boots and eating every single thing that’s placed in front of you.

I love when you hold my head and ask for a kiss.

I love brushing your hair, thin but long, and asking your vote for ballerina bun or braids.

I love how you worship your Daddy. And how only he can paint your nails and how you show people those nails, days after they begin to chip.

Just keep being you, beauitful girl. Stay smart and strong.

And know that you have taught me so much. I cannot wait to watch your journey continue. And to see the woman you turn out to be and the things I continue to learn from you.

I love you more,

Momma

Thankful thoughts

Addie and I were snuggling under the covers at bedtime last night singing songs about her favorite show, movie and book characters. It went something like this:

“Mickeeeeeeeey, Mickeeeeeeeey, Mickeeeeeeey…”
“Peter Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit…”
Then, a nod to Puss ‘n’ Boots, the feisty feline from the Shrek movies, almost caused me to fall out of the tiny little twin bed.
“Boooooooze…. ohhhh Booooooze… is a cat.”

And as I’m wiping away tears of laughter and snorting like a lady, she holds my face in her hands and looks at me very, very seriously.

“I eat you up, you love me so.”

And then Scott and I switch rooms and I go to lay down next to the Z-Man, prepping myself for the ritual routine of “Stay in bed. Stay in your room. Please don’t open your door.”
But he’s already dozing!
His eyes are so heavy and he’s barely even sucking on the thumb in his mouth.
He opens one eye, mouthes “Momma,” and he’s out with a smile. I pet his hair a few times and listen as his breathing goes to that sleeping place.

The ‘babies,’ though I still call them that, rarely let me have the baby moments now. They’re stubborn and strong-willed and independent in so many ways and I love that. But I miss the quiet moments, the singing, the giggles at bedtime. I miss being the last thing they see before a good nights’ rest.

In this time of gratitude, I am so thankful for them.
And the huge spectrum of moments they bring to my world. The good, the frustrating, the emotional, the pulling-my-hair-out ones. I wouldn’t trade a single one in, for they are part of the bigger picture of being blessed to just be their Momma.

To wake up and fight off sleep and reach clumsily for coffee while simultaneously urging a four-year-old that he can not wear only a diaper and boots to school while his little sister puts her Cheerios in a sand bucket and shouts to no one in particular something about a dragon stealing her amulet.

I’m grateful for Scott and his hard work, for allowing me to stay at home and fulfill some dreams for a while. Dreams of photography and these moments with the “babies.” I’m grateful for so many loved ones who reach out when I need a “right smack bottom” (It’s a Shrek thing) or need to vent to someone; to the family and friends who love me more than I think I deserve sometimes; and the ones traveling to be with us for a belated Thanksgiving celebration this week.

But of all the things in my life, I’m so very thankful to me — to the woman who, in rare beautiful moments, forgets fears and ignores the mess on the dining room floor and remembers to live THIS moment, be the Momma they need and I want to be and still not lose sight of the things that make me me.

Those moments — singing and giggling and whispering secrets to a sleeping blonde boy — I swear it’s for those moments that I am alive. I swear it’s those moments I feel most alive.

Be thankful. For the moments you have. Stop and smell the coffee, or at least see if you can get to the Keurig machine with a smile on your face. Start there, pause, look around, and voila. Your thankfulness lies in front of you.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!

We partied like it was… 2012?

We had ourselves a lil birthday shindig the other day.

In honor of a lovely two-year-old and her and her family’s journey.

There was (eventually) sunshine, friends and family fluttering about the living room and yard. Lots of catching up, some new friends and a happy momma with a very full and happy heart.

Thank you to those who traveled hours to be a part of our celebration; thanks to those who gave our lucky little girl some new clothes and toys and books; and a thank you to those who sacrificed things they should have been doing or wanted to be doing to be a part of our girl’s day.

 

I still can’t believe she is two.

Two going on 16.

 

Addie, you are loved!

 

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Isn’t she lovely

Addison Caroline turns TWO today.

It’s a blur; it’s a fast-flying dream.

In my first weeks of pregnancy with her, I told Scott, “It’s a girl and she has a HUGE personality. She will be a handful.”

He rolled his eyes.

But I was right. About all three things.

 

 

Zack made me a Momma. Addie made me a stronger woman.

After Zack’s DS diagnosis and rounds of therapists and tests and minor health issues, the decision to have a second child was infinitely more difficult than contemplating our first. What if s/he had DS? What if s/he didn’t? Which would be more difficult for us? What if Zack needed so much of our time? What if s/he suffered indirectly from Big Brother’s disability or teasing from kids at school or losing time to therapies and special schools?

And then one day, it just hit for us. We realized this was not about the What Ifs and the What If Nots. This was about baby coos; this was about being a family of four. It was about the idea that we two only children (sort of) always wanted a decent-sized family.

We got pregnant almost immediately with Addie. And she let us know she was the boss.

 

I spent four-and-a-half months with such severe morning sickness, I sometimes couldn’t make the 20-minute drive to work without having to pull over in tears. It was a pregnancy filled with much more discomfort than my one with Zack — my sciatica ached early on, my glucose was borderline and I nearly passed out a dozen times, she kicked and punched relentlessly and sat on my tailbone or up in my ribs the majority of the time.

 

But I also felt a strange peace during those months.

I would force myself to steal away to a quiet corner or amidst a Spring breeze alone for a few moments to just be. Be calmer, be wiser, be a fighter for myself, be a survivor, be a DS advocate, be a better worker, better leader.

 

Because of Zack’s DS, Addie was considered a high-risk pregnancy and so I saw a specialist for the first half of my time with her in utero. Just days after the New Year began, we trekked to an office 40 minutes away for a 4-D ultrasound looking for signs of DS and other severe complications.

The sweet technician waved the wand around a bit and smiled. “It’s a girl,” she said.

She must have thought we were crazy because we didn’t bat an eyelash. (OK, I miiiiiight have said an “I told you so” to Scott)

You see, the gender of the baby meant very little to us at that time.

I just want healthy, please be healthy, I prayed.

The technician could not say anything about DS markers and said the doctor would be in shortly. We waited some more. When you wait five months of a pregnancy to make sure your baby is healthy, a few moments shouldn’t feel so long, but it was agony. I was half in tears for those ten minutes.

We became a case study for the doctor’s entourage of young doctors-to-be, five white-coat-clad men and women who were brought up to speed on our situation and what we were looking for and… and finally, the words.

“I see no markers for Down Syndrome. It seems you have a very healthy baby girl.”

 

But still.

For a few days, that news was amazing. Felt like flying.

But then it wears off a bit. You see, Zack had ultrasounds during his pregnancy and nothing was ever caught in them. Who says they couldn’t miss something with Addie?

 

But I tried less worrying and more living. And weeks and months flew by until I saw her face in an operating room on May 18, 2012.

 

All that dark hair, I gasped.

And those eyes. Oh my God. She looked half-exotic. This darker skin, dark hair, big blue eyes.

 

And that scream.

She screamed for an hour. Impressed the nurses and Daddy. Mommy missed her already.

 

She is as much a contradiction to Zack as one can be, but at times the two of them seem deeply connected at the soul.

Zack is quiet, calm, solitary, loyal and so loving.

Addie is busy, louder, so active. She is not shy and she has no fear.

Zack prefers reading and playing pretend with animals and dolls. Addie is surrounded by six stuffed animals at bedtime but otherwise prefers building or coloring.

 

Her jet black hair has transformed into these long, soft locks of light brown, almost dark blonde wisps that frame her face. We’ve never cut her hair but get asked to this day if that’s a planned hairstyle. She’s always looked a lot like me, but lately is transforming into her own little person.

And she is beautiful. I may be biased. But from the first weeks at home with her, there are some mornings I get her out of her crib and just GASP. She’s just lovely.

(Until she tells you NO, dumps cat food, colors on the wall or… oh no, wait, she’s always lovely,right?)

 

LOVES: Bubble Guppies. Duckies. Cows (she looks for them on every car ride). Chi-chens. Pizza (just like her momma). PURPLE!

CURRENT SAYINGS: “Hi, it’s me, Addie” “____, where ARE you?”  “I change diaper.”  “I see ____”   “I call ____ (usually Pop-Pop or Nana)” “Where go? I no know…”

 

The way she looks at her brother.

It floors me every time.

She looks at him with adoration and a great gorgeous love. Her eyes follow him and his activity. She accepts every dance invite (they hold hands and twirl in a circle) and when they’re working on different toys, she will sometimes stand up to see what he is doing or will call him over to look at her game. She accepts his hugs and squeezes, even the ones that land her on the floor accidentally.

 

She is helping Zack.

It’s not why we had her (someone asked us that once) but honestly, she guides him. She speaks new words and he mimics her within a day or so. She tries to take off her shirt or put shoes on and he soon does the same.

When she wakes up in the morning, she either asks for her friend Aubrey or her big brother. When we drop Zack off at school and it’s not her day to go, she cries, sobbing “Zaaaaaaa” in the backseat for ten minutes.

 

There are a thousand things I love about my daughter. But I love most the way she has moved me. The way she has changed my heart to make it big enough to love twice as much.

 

Addie,

I hope you will always be strong and always be a fighter.

I hope you will always love your brother and make him a fighter, too.

I hope you use the potty regularly soon.

I hope you always eat as well as you do now. (Never trust everything your dad gives you — some of it WILL be hot!)

I hope you appreciate my efforts to put you in pink and do your hair.

I hope you always bring vivacity and excitement to the rooms you enter.

I hope you know I would fight anyone, I would destroy anything in your path with my bare hands, I would be your loudest cheerleader in whatever you choose to do or pursue. Forever.

I hope you know you will never be as loved as you are by we three.

 

She turns TWO today. And I am a sentimental, happy, excited little fool.

She is the spark.

And she is so, so lovely. 943772_694458912044_1860684619_n _DSC0053-2 401730_632180473534_933391962_n 550385_634956774804_2061434742_n Aubrey (16 of 32) EASTER (40 of 56)

 

 

What they don’t tell you

There are a lot of tough careers out there — I feel like retail and hospitality, both of which I’ve worked in, are pretty intense and stressful; and the ups and downs of a journalism career had its own share of adrenaline rushes, good and bad.

But this stay-at-home mom adventure I’ve been on these past two months is the most incredible experience I’ve ever felt in my life.

It gives the most amazing highs of highs. Until you’re a mom, I’m sorry but you just may not get it. The patting of a little boy’s hand on your back and in your hair and his sweet, slobbery kisses. The way you look into her eyes and see yourself and the way you stop in your tracks because she really is that smart.

I love the snuggles on sick days, being the only one who can make it all better. I’m grateful for the trips to the park and the walks to see the ducks; the first days of school and the scheduling of playdates. It’s a lovely little world.

Until reality sets in.

Because there is this whole other side to raising kids full-time that is so incredibly painful, in ways you never knew you could hurt.

I talked with one of my dearest friends last night and over the phone we whispered about how we’ve thought about punting our children across the room. Not very lovely, huh? It was nice to know I wasn’t alone and we laughed it out for a few moments, boosting moods on a difficult day. But the sad truth is that some days it is so very hard to be a  good mom for 15 straight hours on six or less hours of sleep to children who can squeal in such a high pitch that neighborhood dogs must lose their minds. A victory is not hurling your child across the room. (I never have, by the way).

You see, it’s a life of repetition.

“No” times 48.

“Please get out of the cat littler.”

“I said NO TOUCH!”

“Why are you in the toilet???”

“We don’t throw books at our sister.”

“Get out of the cat litter. NOW.”

You watch your tax paperwork get drawn on with crayons. You see scribbles on your work calendar. The remote gets hidden in the garbage. Then later, in a couch cushion. And then in the goldfish bag. And the cracker explosion on the floor and a leaking sippy cup.

You see, it all happens while you’re picking up the books and cleaning up strewn cat litter and doing silly things like attempt to fold a load of laundry and use the bathroom. Or you’re feeding the cats (don’t worry, their bowls will be thrown on the floor later) or taking the dogs out (while a child sneaks into the mudroom and you’ll later find a spiky toy in your left boot.

And then.

You hear the toilet flush.

And none of that takes into account a severe case of cabin fever from all three of you during the coldest, snowiest, most severe winter you’ve experienced in this state.

Pleas of “Outside” have to be ignored because the wind chill is -15 degrees and the snow is two feet high. There’s only so many crafts you can make and PlayDoh you can smash and cut and roll into little balls.

And you can’t help but feel bitterness towards your spouse who is enjoying 45-minute car rides with music and scenery and who interacts with adults for hours every single day. He’s not singing the Thomas & Friends theme song and he’s definitely not folding the same shirt for the second time after it — and the rest of the laundry basket — was pulled down from the table. You know, while you were sweeping up cat litter. And then he enjoys a night out once a week for sports and friends. Adult friends, again. And he works long hours and is tired when he gets home, so can you blame him for relaxing for a few minutes on the couch?

On the plus side, I know now how to cook a decent meal (meat, potato, vegetables — you betcha!) while yelling “HOT!” 73 times in 34 minutes. I can also wash dishes while hopping on one foot. Because the left foot is balancing the dishwasher door semi-closed because a certain 21-month-old loves to take the dirty dishes out while you load up the machine.

Somewhere in there, I’m sending e-mails and Facebook messages and attempting conference calls to further two independent, self-employed businesses (shameless plug for www.marykay.com/wzook and wendyzookphotography.wordpress.com HERE). I am so motivated and so determined and frankly, I’m kicking butt… but imagine what I could do with two solid hours of dedicated time every now and then? Silly, I know.

Oh, and none of this takes into account a trip to the Emergency Room with your eldest, where you alternate between near hysteria and eerie calm because he can’t catch his breath between coughs and he just looks at you with such discomfort and sadness.

It’s here that two ladies and one man in scrubs attack you from all sides, asking about your street address and insurance, medical history and length of symptoms. While your three-year-old clings to you, sobbing hysterically, batting away the stethoscope.

You pace the room for an hour, you hold up his arms while he cries during an x-ray. You frantically tell the nurse about the hole in his heart, just in case you forgot or she didn’t hear. “And you remember he has Down Snydrome, right???” you yell through an open door over a blonde head still screaming.

You spend four sleepless nights with him on the couch, aggravating an old running injury but catching up on your Olympics coverage, mumbling over and over, “Shhh, shhhh, it’s alright. Sleep, baby.”

Somehow, the laundry never ends, despite the fact that you’re lucky if you change your clothes three times a week. Everyone else in the house has multiple outfit changes a day, however. Plus, you’re finally noticing all of the neglected housework — the dirty curtains that need washed and towels and such. There’s closets to organize and couch cushions to clean and floors to mop and clothes to donate and socks to match and, well, this list, my friends, never ends.

So, don’t forget the Mommies. The ones who clean snot and clip fingernails among tears. The ones who push aside every selfish impulse (minus a venting, rambling blog post, it seems), to take care of their family.

It’s an illusion. We like you to walk through our door and say, “Gee, how does she do it?”

We, meanwhile, ask ourselves at least once a day, usually while running over our to-do list at bedtime or while hiding in the bathroom after a particularly traumatizing temper tantrum: “How can I do this?”

But you can.

I can.

She can.

I have to go now — the kids just threw all the books onto the floor and I can’t find the remote.

I hope it’s not in the toilet.

 

 

Rabbit, rabbit

When I woke yesterday, the first day of an exciting month for our family, I felt myself recalling the many, many firsts of months when I was a little girl. I had read somewhere that it was good luck to have “Rabbit, Rabbit” be the first thing you say out loud on the first of the month. I would be devastated if I accidentally forgot and did something stupid like say, “Good morning, Dad” or “I’m late for school.” Heavens forbid!

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.

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