Waiting

Today I read an achingly beautiful article, that like most things it seems these days, had me weeping.

I am at the tail end of this long, long pregnancy, at last.  While with Cora I did not yet feel ready when she surprised us by coming just after 37 weeks, now I am waiting, waiting, waiting. 

I am still a week shy of my due date, but already to a time when I thought I'd be snuggled in with my baby, not still noticing the daily expansion of my surprisingly round belly.

Each day I wake up wondering if it will be today.  And I go to bed at night, only to wake the next morning (and several times through the night) with the same thoughts.

To read this article today finally gave some shape to the way I've been feeling.  Moody and weepy, short-tempered and sentimental.  Impatient and still afraid...  Feeling incapable of doing anything of value, and still feeling an urgent need to cling to and appreciate the little moments that make up these days.

I am standing on the precipice of waiting for my life to change, yet again.  There really is no comparison for the changes that becoming a mother effects.  No other transition I have gone through that has shifted and formed me, or changed me down to my very being.  Yet here I am, about to become a mother again.  Is that really right?  Am I becoming a mother once again?  It feels like it to me.

I know what it is to be Cora's mother so far.  But what do I know about this new baby?  I know her sweet bumpy hiccups, soft kicks and long stretches.  I know that she likes to kick her big sister, and sometimes tries to hide when another hand tries to sneak in and feel her movements.  I know that she has been in there for what feels like eternity, and that carrying her has seemed to bring my life to a stand-still.  I've been to a large extent off my feet for about four months now, wondering how my body and my sanity would make it to the end.  I've been feeling so much guilt for not having the same energy for my Cora Bean, missing out on the spring and most of the summer, and staying inside watching way too much television.  It has felt so long and so lonely, and honestly, so very hard.

It's so hard to believe that this phase will soon come to an end.  And even harder to believe that a new phase will begin.

In the meantime, I find my moments of real joy in the snuggles that I get with my lovely little three-year old.  I climb into my bed in between bed-time and nap-time and she happily follows me in for the sweetest of embraces and a few giggles.  Those moments are what are carrying me through.

And there are those moments when I realize (although still in a kind of disbelief) that I will soon be creating new moments of a joy with an entirely new person, a person that I will somehow love as much as I love my Cora.

It's in those moments that I know that this waiting is worthwhile.

On Mother's Day... What Makes a Mom

On this Mother's Day, as I am given the rare sweet opportunity to sleep in until 8:30 and eat a beautiful breakfast made by my awesome husband, I am reflecting with love on the ones that make motherhood so special to me.

My own mumma, who is the best inspiration and one of the most incredible blessings in my life.

Photograph by Shon Taylor

To my sweet little girl Cora, who changed my life and made me a mama, too.  Being her mother is the hardest, and most exquisitely wonderful thing in my life.

Photograph by Owls Eye Photography

And to my new sweet little baby girl, for now so small and wiggly, who is slowing me down and turning my life into what feels like a long waiting game... I can't wait to welcome you into our lives.

Photograph by Owls Eye Photography

Happy Mother's Day.

To see the beautiful project by Megan at Owls Eye Photography, please see "What Makes a Mom."  Thank you Megan, for the gorgeous photographs!

Easter Eggs

Seeing your kids have a blast on holidays is something that is hard to match. And this year Cora finally got into the excitement and had a great time.

We kept it pretty low key.  We started by making Eggs Benedict.  Cora really must be my daughter, because she ate every bite, proclaiming "nummy!" after most of them.  And for those that know about Cora's eating habits, eating every bite of anything is considered an accomplishment around here.

Then the fun began, as Cora ran around the front yard looking for Easter eggs. 

Seeing her get so excited to find each one, then hold them up to show us before running around for more was pretty amazing.  Especially because seeing her on her own two feet is still such an incredible thing to witness.

When she discovered that each egg actually held a piece of candy, she was pretty thrilled.  So she spent a few minutes eating every little chocolate egg she could find.

The rest of our day will be pretty low-key.  We'll be staying at home, and getting outside a little to take advantage of the snippets of sunshine that seem to be peeking through.  Happy Easter.

Bittersweet

The other night I had a big realization.  It hit me as I was lying in the guest bed, trying to sleep (after  being lovingly kicked out of bed due to my marathon pregnancy-induced snoring sessions).  For the past couple months the days and weeks have been moving in slow motion.  Let me tell you, this pregnancy has been really rough on me, and having another two and a half months or so to go has been seeming like eternity.  But somehow that night, alone in bed, it dawned on me that I only had another couple months of being a mama to just Cora. 

Suddenly, the rest of this pregnancy felt like it would fly by in a flash, and I began to cry.  I mean, I really cried.  For probably an hour or so.  I felt like my heart was being pulled from my chest and that I was actually mourning a loss.  Of course I know that I am not going to be losing Cora when her little sister arrives, but somehow it felt that way right then.

For more than three years now, this little girl has been my entire life.  Everything I do revolves around her.  Most of the time it feels like everything I am revolves around her.  The life I lived before she was born seems so alien to me now.  My days and nights are of course different.  But even my thoughts, my conversations and my friends are different.  Everything in my life centers around the fact that I am Cora's mom, and that I spend my days and nights with this little girl.

And now I am realizing that that will all be changing.  I won't just be Cora's mom anymore.  I will have someone else there to share my focus, my energy, my thoughts, my attention and my love.

And somehow, the idea of sharing those things, despite how excited we are to welcome the new little one into our lives, felt like an enormous loss: a loss of the era of us as a twosome.

Little Sister, patiently waiting for her chance to get out.

As morning arrived, I found that much of my sadness had dissipated.  But my realization has pushed me to put things into perspective.  Even though this pregnancy isn't getting much easier, I am getting back the desire to soak up the rest of the moments that Cora and I get to share as a pair.  I am starting to release the guilt (and subsequent depression) I've been dealing with as I've become less mobile and have not been able to be as active and involved with Cora as I would like.  I am working on being more present in our moments together, and not allowing myself to be stuck in the self-pity I've been building.

I am trying to enjoy the last months we have before the baby arrives.  Even though the days still feel long and I feel like I will be pregnant forever, I know that it won't really last.  I know that very soon we will be a family of four, and I am looking forward to expanding our lives with our mysterious impending arrival.  But I am acknowledging all the same that growth is bittersweet.

Third Heart Day

Three years ago today, my baby got the chance to start her life.  At the crack of dawn, she was whisked away to a wonderful surgeon who used his skills to fix her faulty little heart.

In the 11-1/2 weeks leading up to that day, there was so much fear.  So much worry, so much stress.  So many decisions to make.  So many bittersweet moments of loving this tiny girl, all the while knowing that there was a chance that her life would be cut short.

I remember taking photos of her intact white chest, knowing that it'd be the last time I'd see it unmarred by the surgeon's marks.  I knew that it would be a scar that she would carry forever, if she were to make it out of this surgery. 

These days her scar is faint and white.  If you ask her about it, she'll gladly lift up her shirt to show you her scar.  It's funny, because I have always felt like I should have a matching scar myself.  I guess I do, although mine is invisible and more metaphorical.  That process definitely marked me with my own permanent scars.  But my scar is in my mind and in my memories.

 

Sometimes those days seem like just yesterday.  It only takes a second to bring back that feeling of fear, and to feel the tears start to fill my eyes.

But, you know what?  We aren't there anymore.  Today I watch my big girl run around her Grammie's house, dancing and singing and reading books.  She has no memory of those days of fear.  And they are fading more and more into the background of our life together.  We know how very much we have to look forward to with this wonderful little girl.

And so today, on the THIRD anniversary of Cora's open heart surgery, I am purely and simply grateful.  Grateful for all the moments we've shared together since that day.  Grateful for all the ways that she makes our lives better.  Grateful that there are so many people who love her like we do.

We love you, Cora.  Happy Heart Day!

World Down Syndrome Day- A Mother's Hope

Today is World Down Syndrome Day. 3/21, the date that represents the three copies of the 21st chromosome that are responsible for Down syndrome.  Today we celebrate all those in our lives with this extra chromosome.  We have certainly been celebrating Cora, and she is celebrating herself by refusing to come inside out of the beautiful spring day we're enjoying.  

This is our fourth WDSD (I know, I can barely believe it myself).  I've written a post on this day for the past three years, but today, I am sharing the post I wrote last year.  I send my hope out into the universe once again. 

Today, March 21st, is World Down Syndrome Day.  Chosen because 3/21 signifies the three copies of the 21st chromosome that are responsible for Trisomy 21 (Down syndrome), it is a day when those who love someone with Ds and those that have Ds shout it from the rooftops:   

Down syndrome is natural!  Down syndrome is beautiful!  My life is enhanced by Down syndrome!

These are messages that I, too want to share.  They are things that I've said before and that I hope I convey often.

Yet, as I celebrate my third WDSD, the thought that keeps coming back to me is that for all these pronouncements, for all this awareness, there is still so far to go.

A couple of weeks ago I had an experience so familiar to parents of people with Down syndrome.  Someone in the periphery of my life confessed their admiration for me.  He went on to tell me that there are so many people that would have chosen not to walk this path that I now live; those who would have given it all away.  He went on to talk about how knowing that there are people who "are worse off and who have it harder" inspires him to live his own life fully.

And I know he meant well.  But that sentiment: that I am one of those that is worse off because Cora is in my life; that stung.

The fact is that Down syndrome is still seen as something to pity.  Those who truly love a person with Ds are still seen as heroes.  Our exclamations that we love our children and that they are worthy of that love is somehow not quite believable, even as they ooh and aaah over the adorable photos of our adorable children. We want the world to know that our loved ones are smart, are funny, are interesting; are in truth, full and incredible human beings.  But sometimes getting this truth out into the world seems like a long hard road.

And that is what I would like to see change.

I know that my child is seen as an other.  I see it on strangers' and acquaintances' faces, though she is only 2 years old.  I know that my child is part of a group of people that are still considered acceptable to marginalize.  Heck, as much as it pains me, I know that many people don't even see her as being fully human, fully worthy to be living this life that she lives.

And in this process of being her mother, I've become something of an other too. I am a Down syndrome mother. 

Strangely, although people-first language is supposed to apply to those with a disability, it does not apply to those who love them or raise them.  For some reason it is still acceptable to define me by the fact that my child has an extra chromosome.  Not simply a mother, but a special needs mother.

As much as I'd love to be just another mother, and as much as I wish that my daughter's own differences didn't set us apart, it still seems that the world just isn't quite there yet.  Until differences are seen as part of the natural and normal web of life, we're not there yet.  Until words that were once meant to describe people like Cora stop being thrown around lightly to describe anything stupid and worthless, we're not there yet.

Sometimes this seems so daunting and so impossible.

But the rest of the time, I am simply and completely blown away by what I am learning as I walk this path.  Despite the challenges, the fears and the worries that I battle now and then, this is a life of joy and of love.  It's a life I wouldn't trade for anything. The lessons I've learned in the past two years have shown me how important it is to widen my focus and learn to see the value and importance of every human being.

And so, as I observe and celebrate today, I hope deep in my heart that in this life I will be witness to a shift in perspective.  I hope that this enormous community effort to raise awareness of people with Down syndrome and others who are differently-abled can help to bring about the understanding that all people are different, and that difference is natural, valuable, necessary and something to appreciate.

I hope that my daughter will be able to live her life in a world that continues to change and evolve and that accepts her as a whole and valuable human being.  I hope to be a part of this change.

World Down Syndrome Day- 2012 

World Down Syndrome Day- 2011

A Day in the Life...

As World Down Syndrome Day approaches on March 21st, join in on our Blog Hop, as we describe a Day in the Life...

Our first peep from Cora comes around midnight.  She wakes up and starts hollering from her room for one of us to come get her.  Because we are sleep-deprived as it is, this is as far as our sleep training process has gotten us.  One of us gets up and brings her into our room, where she snuggles up with her Daddy for a few hours.  Between 4 and 5 she starts to wiggle.  Nick tries to keep her asleep for as long as possible, but some time between 5:30 and 6:00, he usually rolls her over to my side, where in a half-asleep state she grabs and claws at my face until I can stand it no more.  If it's before 6:30, I bring her out to the living room and put her in her pack-and-play and turn on a show... Signing Time, Sesame Street, and Curious George top the list.  Then I go back to bed and try to rest for another half hour or so, until Cora's hollering gets me out of bed.  (And yes, she recently discovered that she can escape the pack-and-play, so we'll how long our stay-in-bed technique continues to work.)



I finally crawl out of bed and let Cora out of her little prison and make myself a mostly-decaf blend of coffee.  I sit with my coffee and read e-mails or junk out on social media while Cora plays around me, squirms her way into my lap with a book or two, or begs for some iPad time.

Then we have breakfast: Cheerios and yogurt on most lazy mornings, sometimes interspersed with something fun like french toast, oatmeal or eggs.  I try to pay enough attention to Cora to keep her food on her tray and on its way to her mouth, but she often topples her food over and proclaims, "Oh no..." and breakfast is over.

Then it's usually dance party time.  Cora yells "tunes" and I turn on Pandora.  We mix it up a bit.  Raffi radio sometimes, reggae at others, and if we're feeling sassy, maybe a little Cyndi Lauper.  Cora shows off her moves as she dances around the living room, making sure to keep tabs on whether I an dancing enough or just going through the motions, and copying my best dance moves (which I am sure she performs much better than I do.)  She holler-sings along, kicks her feet, bops her head and giggles around the room.

We then head into the bathroom to get ready for the day: teeth brushing, sunscreen, hair.  If I am feeling up to wearing a little makeup Cora always asks for some too, and grins after I put a little pretend powder on her cheeks.  She makes fishy faces in the mirror and laughs at herself.  We get dressed.

After some cajoling, we usually both have socks, shoes and coats on, and we head out of the house for our morning activity.  On some days it's Cora's "Music, Marching and Make Believe" class, on others it's a trip to the indoor park, or if weather allows, the real actual outside park.  We go to see live kids' music about once a week, and about once a week we have a therapy appointment for Cora (either speech therapy across town or one of her school district therapists visits the house.)  Other days it's the local Science Museum, or the library, and we even manage to work in the occasional doctor's visit for Cora or for me and a bit of errand running. 

Then it's home for lunch and nap.  These days I lie down with Cora until she falls asleep.  I know it's not the best habit to be in, but after our running around, it's a nice time to relax a bit, and catch a few giggles and snuggles with my girl.  There's just something so sweet about her as she holds onto her blankie and puts her snuggle-puppy in between us, looking at me with a sleepy smile and pushing her forehead up to me for kisses.  While she sleeps I manage to put in some time at my work-from-home job.

 After Cora wakes up, we play a bit in the house, have some more snuggles, and eat a little snack.  The rest of the afternoon can vary.  Usually we'll stay around the house, playing outside if it's nice enough, or trying to keep busy with indoor activities.  Cora runs around commenting on the dogs, birds, squirrels and cats, and waving to the cars that go by. On really long days, we may run an errand or two, or go on a fun adventure outside the house, especially when I am feeling incapable of coming up with hours of activities for a toddler with a pretty short-attention span.

When 5:00 rolls around, it's time to be home and making dinner.  Cora loves to help, but is not content unless she is right in the thick of things.  And with the oven and the stove, that doesn't tend to go over too well.  So sometimes I will distract her with some more iPad time, or an episode of one of her favorite shows until Daddy comes home.

When Nick gets home she runs for him, yelling "Daddy," and usually ready to give him some well-earned hugs and kisses.  She helps Nick get settled and then we sit down to have dinner.  Dinner, like all meals, is sometimes pleasant, but often frustrating, as Cora's food preferences seem to shift with no notice, and getting a balanced meal becomes an exercise in futility.  Although she is fully capable of self-feeding, she often needs help so that her food doesn't end up on the floor, or shoveled in too quickly that she can't handle it and just spits it all all.  Dinner always feels like work, but it's getting better.

After dinner there's play time with Daddy, with lots of laughing, screeching and silliness.  Eventually pajamas get donned, teeth get brushed, and stories get chosen.  On really long and exhausting days sometimes we watch a show as a family before her 7:30 bedtime.  After many goodnight kisses, Nick takes Cora to bed, where hopefully he doesn't fall asleep, and we both keep our fingers crossed that she actually goes down and stays down until her midnight wake. If we're both still awake, we may actually get in an hour or two of time together.

All in all our days are long, very ordinary, and often mundane.  But they are filled with laughs,  snuggles, and songs too.  It's amazing how busy Cora and I keep one another, and hard to envision how much our days will be changing when her new sister arrives on the scene, and when Cora heads off to preschool a couple months after that.  Sometimes it's so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day routines that you don't see how quickly things change. And it's even easier to forget to appreciate the moments we share.  But Cora is a pretty amazing little girl.  For all the toddler frustrations and power struggles, challenges with communication and things that we are working on, she still manages to bring me back into the things that are most important:  our little conversations and silly "jokes"; the hugs and snuggles; the booty-shaking, foot-stomping, dinosaur-roaring boogying.  It's these little things that make me smile when the day is done, and that help me drag myself out of bed in the morning, ready to start it all over again.  It's these thousands of little moments that make up what is really big, what is really important, what we really have that's worth living for.