Hysterical Love: Guest Post by Deanna Smith

July 15, 2013 By Kelle

Good Monday Morning to you!

Opening the doors in this space today and making room on our couch for Deanna Smith–a writer and mama who shares her feelings about embracing her children’s differences and learning from their relationship.

I’m honored to have Deanna and her words and heart here today. Bonus: there’s a photo in here of her kids with the most giant open mouth smiles, it’s sure to make you laugh this morning.

So grab a cup of coffee and enjoy.

And to read more from Deanna, check out her blog, Everything and Nothing from Essex.

*And I apologize for any funky print or sizing/formatting issues lately. ETST is getting redesigned, and things will be freshened up soon.

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Hysterical Love
by Deanna Smith

I’m sitting cross legged on the floor watching my children play. My body is still, but my mind is traveling at an entirely different speed.

My children. They are so alike in so many ways but yet entirely different. They both have the same dark blonde hair. They both have their father’s blue eyes. They both weigh 28 pounds. They both have a talent for making a mess. They both love to laugh, watch Signing Time, and hide mommy’s phone—not necessarily in that order.

The first difference that should be pointed out is that my daughter is 3, and my son is 18 months. The second? The number of chromosomes contained in the cute little bodies that live life so fully each and every mess-making day.

When they first told me that my little girl would have Down syndrome, I rubbed my twenty week pregnant belly and sobbed as I received the news from the super depressing genetic counselor. My life would never be normal again. Could I change it? Did I cause it? Why was this happening to me?

Remembering the emotions from that phone call now- almost four years later, I no longer feel the stab of pain that I once thought would never go away. Instead the entire phone call is just a fleeting memory as I watch my two little ones dance the dance of toddler play—giggling, fighting, hugging, mimicking each other.

Carter has no idea what a unique sister he has. The fact that her body is created quite differently from most other little girls means nothing to him. Right now she is simply his best friend; the one always available to play with him; the one always willing to go along with his plans of mischief- no questions asked. She is the one he asks for as soon as he wakes up. The one who then steals his breakfast and then gives it back when he signs “please.” They are rarely found playing without the other, and if you hear chubby feet pounding the hallway in a frantic run it is because they lost each other and are moving at great speed to reunite. After all, bookcases are much easier to empty if you have a second pair of helping hands!

My musings are interrupted as I watch him lunge for the stuffed rabbit that is clasped in Addison’s right hand. I hear her proclaim “No, No, No” to him while deliberately signing along with her left hand. I see him accept this and scramble away to find a different toy, not questioning her authority because he knows that the speed with which she steals toys back is truly quite astounding.

This scene is so normal and yet quite amazing to me.

Carter doesn’t care about the heart surgeries, g-tube drama, and nasal cannula-wearing days in her past. He only cares about their play today and whether or not she will share her toys with him. Carter doesn’t stare at her orthotics. He tries to steal them for his own since it’s obviously not fair that she gets something he doesn’t! Carter doesn’t laugh at her speech attempts when he hears her repeat a word after him and her version is much less clear than his. He smiles in encouragement and then verbalizes the “cow” to her “moo.” Carter doesn’t consider it a bad thing that she can’t climb as high as he can. He needs someone to stay on the main floor to keep on the lookout for mean ol’ mom who comes running with that dirty little word “DOWN!” Carter doesn’t care that her eyes are shaped differently than his. He only needs to see the glint of a twinkle in those almond shaped beauties before he shouts her happiness into raucous laughter. When she responds back with equally vigorous laughter, he stares back into those eyes with something I like to call hysterical love. Because then the laughter will bounce back and for several minutes. Several gloriously, awesome minutes.

Just then they scamper over to the curtain and began to test the limits of the new curtain rod recently installed because of a previous peek-a-boo-behind-the-curtain game gone wrong. More laughter. An occasional “BOO!” Muffled giggles. Shuffling as Carter tries to slide under the couch. Cries of annoyance when Addison then tries to use his plump behind as her stepping point to get up onto the couch.

They are equals. Friends. Fighters. Playmates. Food-Eating-Contestants. Drink Stealers. Seat Sharers. Laughter Igniters. Toy Wrestlers. Avoiding Sleep Comrades. Duet Snack Demanders. The Population Of Two On Mommy’s Lap. The Population That Kicks The Other Half Of The Population On Mommy’s Lap.

They are my happiness—mess and all.

I wish that I could freeze life in the toddler phase (as hard as it may be on certain days!) I wish that the world-view of Addison as she grows would be the same as how Carter looks at her now. I wish that we could all operate more like a room full of toddlers (minus the cracker-stealing-hair-pulling-random screaming part.) I guess what I’m saying is that I wish Addison and Carter would always be viewed as equals. Two people—full of unique, hilarious, wonderful, amazing qualities—who are living life just as it was meant to be.

I know I can’t control the world. I know I can’t force niceness and kindness in a bubble around her as she grows beyond her toddler playroom and morning Preschool sessions. I know that even Carter will change and his thoughts towards Down syndrome perhaps won’t always be so innocent.

But I can change myself. I can replace my natural tendency of judgment with kindness and grace. I can smile—really smile—at that person who I might have previously ignored because I was uncomfortable. I can slow down and help the person who might seem easy to rush on by on my way to my own agenda. I can look beyond differences and see a person in need of loving interaction with another person.

Watching my two children play has taught me a lot and has given me big dreams for my daughter’s future: a future for which I have no guarantee, ability to change, or crystal ball to see what might be there.

But I hope her future will be full of kindness, opportunity, and happiness: a future that I hope to help build by setting the example myself wherever I can—starting with the two moldable lives living it up toddler-style in front of me.

Just as my mind is spinning and my lips are turned upward in smile, the two toddlers in my care decide that the curtain has lost their interest. They are running towards me—ready for the usual mom welcome of tickles, hugs, and kisses. I prepare myself for the extra saliva that teething will add to the kisses and hugs that will try to split my chin with an uncoordinated knock from two large heads.

But to me the whole scene is perfect. And normal. Two descriptors that at 20 weeks pregnant with my first child I never thought would be in my life again.

Happiness. Normal. Perfect. Down syndrome. I’m amazed at the things that motherhood has taught me.

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Deanna is mother to two (soon to be three!) young children and writer of Everything and Nothing from Essex. Life is full of toddler drama, dishes, and diaper changing. She has given up on trying to create a perfect (read: clean) existence and has settled in to enjoy every moment of her currently messy life. Laughter, cuddles, adventure, and bubble baths aplenty- these young years may be challenging, but at the same time, pretty darn amazing.

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