The title of this post may surprise you. Because it surprises me. Because…I forget. The two words that felt so heavy months ago, like iron chains that shackled me and pulled me beneath waters that choked and suffocated me until I almost drowned. They’re gone, those shackles. I float happily now, light and free, aware of its presence in our lives but…well, just that. Aware.

This is what I wanted. As I was scraping away layers of who I was months ago, discovering our new meaning, rearranging things in our life and finding a place for the new term to live in our spaces, I hoped I’d end here. That life would take center stage and Down syndrome would move to the back like a stage assitant whose name appears in small print at the end of the credits. I searched the Internet for families that did it like I wanted to and put band-aids on my heart when I found them…familes that moved on and loved life–the ones that you’d never know “it” happened to them unless you dug a little deeper. Families that were not defined by it. And it happened on its own. We became that family, the one I wanted to be.

But every once and awhile, it appears. Last night as she was playing, grasping toys and waving them in front of her. And her movements were a little choppy, up and down, up and down, pounding her forearm to her chest like a hammer. And Brett looks up at me and says, “Is that normal? That choppy movement? Or is that Down syndrome?” And for one tiny little second, my mind starts spinning. Is it normal? Did Lainey do it? What if it’s not? And I want to Google it, but I don’t know what to search. And I don’t want to see what it says. And I laugh it off and go to bed but it’s 6:00 right now and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I woke up early and have let the bus hit me again. It could have been a light and easy hit, but no. I asked the driver to hit me hard. “Smack me real good so my body flings up in the air like a dummy and I hit the pavement hard on the way down,” I tell him. And he obeys.

See, I don’t usually think this way. In fact, I was commenting to a friend the other day that my acceptance of Down syndrome is much like her acceptance of having two boys. Like sometimes it will hit her for a moment that she never had a girl. And for one second it might be sad…that “I’ll never know what it’s like to have a girl” feeling…but then instantly comes this love for her boys and she smiles and moves on. The same argument could be made about only having girls and never knowing what it’s like to have a boy. And that’s just what it’s like for me. Mostly I don’t think about it. But sometimes, for one second it will hit me…”My daughter has Down syndrome,” and my throat will start to tighten and for one second–one tiny, tiny second–it hurts, but right before it closes to the point of robbing my oxygen, it opens back up–as quick as it closed–and I breathe. “Yeah? So what. She has Down sydrome.”

My friend might never know what it’s like to have a girl. I might never know what it’s like to have a boy. And I’ll never know what it’s like to have a Down-syndrome-less Nella. But there’s a lot of things we’ll never know. Every choice we make eliminates another. Random as it is, I’ll never know what it’s like to be married to an Asian man, an Australian man, a British man with a sexy Hugh Grant accent. I’ll never know what it’s like to get wasted on my 21st birthday. I’ll never know what it’s like to have triplets or to travel around the world before I get married. I’ll never know what’s like to be a natural blonde. And I’m not going to cry about any of it because there’s a million random things I’m never going to know, and everyone’s life is custom-made for them. And when I hear about moms who kiss their babies before running to their chemo appointments or kindergarteners who draw pictures of their daddy-less families and nonchalantly tell their teachers that their daddy’s in heaven…well, I’ll take my custom-made situation just as it is, thank you. Because it’s beautiful and I am grateful.

I am reminded that I had these same feelings with Lainey. That there were plenty of nights I woke up early like today, unable to sleep because my mind wandered over unexplained fevers or scabs that didn’t heal. I’ve been hit by the bus in non-special needs land too, and I guess that’s a comfort. And hell, maybe she grabbed toys and jerkily hammered them to her chest too. It’s okay, it really is. I just had to put it out there. Peel off the painful layer, type it out and put it to rest where it belongs.

Parenthood is hard and beautiful. Scary and rewarding. Sad and Happy. All at once. Last week my friend traveled to Texas to be with her best friend when she welcomed her baby early…just three-and-some pounds. It was scary…and although my friend doesn’t have babies yet, I had to sit back and smile at her account of it all after she kissed that baby goodbye and headed back home. Because she was smitten with the love of that little boy and what his family went through and being present to witness the transformation welcoming new life does to you. Especially when it’s a little bit scary. It rocks you to the core. Picks you up, smacks you down hard and then rebuilds you with all new parts. Loving littles is one of the greatest, most wonderful things that will ever happen to you. And the minute you welcome one into your life, you inherit a thicker skin…because the bus will hit you plenty of times to the point you’ll think you damn near died. But you don’t. You pick yourself off the ground, dust off your knees…and move on. Because beauty awaits. The beauty that fills in all the holes and rough spots.

So, I guess I didn’t feel that one coming. But it’s out. And yes, I do have these days.

On a lighter note, we’re off to Key West to engrave some sweet memories in our sweet littles’ minds…and don’t forget to check out how to pack The Perfect Picnic over at Babble.com

Sometimes, when I awake long before the babies and the sky is still dark and the coffee is brewing, I’ll randomly click on an old, old post…to see my babies tinier, to remember something grand, to see how far I’ve come.

And this morning, I came to this one.

It was back in the day–just months ago–when my soul had only begun its stretching, when Holland and Italy were still grappling for my perspective’s destination. And I remember saying that, although “Holland” was wonderful, the part of the poem that says the pain of never landing in Italy will never, ever, ever, ever go away (yes, I think there are three ‘ever’s) really got to me. Because I don’t like being told I’ll never get to do something. And then when you go and add a never ever ever, well–Hell, No.

With all that said, it dawned on me today…I haven’t thought about that poem in months. Because I don’t feel at all like I’ve landed in someplace I wouldn’t want to be. In fact, it’s been nothing but Roman cathedrals and quaint side-street cafes so far. I’ve got the best of both worlds for, while the windmills of Holland may enlighten parts of me that need to grow–say, when Nella straggles a bit behind in milestones or when we have an extra worry here and there–the vast beauty of Italian landscape still bewitches me every day with her smiles and her almond eyes and the way she kneads my skin with her grasp when she’s trying to fall asleep. If you told me I haven’t had Italy thus far, I’d tell ya you’re crazy. Because I have both.

Italy pics compliments of my friend Laura, who just returned from her vacation

Hello, Little Italy.

And sometimes, I wonder if maybe my glasses are just too rosey. And, so I take them off and look at it all again– what we have, what we don’t have, the present, the future…and I’ll blink my eyes and refocus, taking it in without the glasses, and…yup…still looks good. I’m aware of what the future holds. I’m aware that raising children isn’t easy. I’m aware that Lainey will think I’m a bitch someday and will call her friends complaining about me…that my heart will drop to the bottom of my soul when she gets a license and steers her car onto roads that hold drivers that text and drink and run red lights. I’m aware that both of my kids will get made fun of…for being different, for being the same, for being too smart, not-enough smart, short, tall, fat, skinny, funny, nerdy, cautious, daring, compassionate, or what have you. I’m aware that birthing children means forever I will worry that I’ll lose them. That the pain of watching them hurt or struggle or be sad will consume me until I’m eaten alive. I’m aware that it is very likely, at some point, Nella will stop making the incredible advances she’s been making. That she will talk different or look different or struggle to make achievements we hope she will make. I’ve gone there–I have to go there–just to taste it for a second to make sure I can deal. And it might not taste like creme brulee’, no. But, that’s okay. If I have to go there, when I get there, my taste buds will be that of a sophistated epicurean–aware of all the hiddent hints of season and flavors many don’t appreciate.

But for now…there’s Italy. And, it’s a shame to walk through cobblestone streets surrounded by beauty and culture and wonder and not drink it up.

I have two passports to uncharted lands…what joy they’ve brought me so far. What joy they will bring me.

Ha. Wasn’t expecting to write that tonight, but had to get it off my chest. Like writing it somehow proves to myself that yes, I know I could be sad if I wanted to. Sometimes, just to play devil’s advocate with myself–because Lord knows how fun that is–I’ll actually try to switch my paradigm for just a moment…to see what it’s like. I’ll try to wear the shoes of the sad girl, the mad girl, the this-isn’t-fair girl. And those damn shoes just don’t fit. Like when you try to make yourself cry and you close your eyes and think of something sad and play sad music and force yourself into tears like some sort of emotional laxitive–and you realize half way into it, you’re tryin’ way too hard. I’ll think for a second I’ve tapped into it and then I’ll laugh. Nope. I’m too far down this road of a better perspective to go back. And it’s not just about Nella. No. It’s about Life. This whole Nella thing is such a small part of a greater lesson–a lesson I am slowly applying in so many other areas.

And, for Heaven’s sake, would the preacher get off the damn pulpit and call it a day? I’m done, I’m done…I really am.

In lighter-hearted news…

Yesterday was Brett’s birthday. And, without really talking about it, we’ve kind of started this thing where, for birthdays and Father’s Day and Mother’s Day and what have you, we skip the presents to save the money and instead let the celebrated one choose something to do…a trip to the beach, Isle of Capri, a family swim, a picnic, some sort of outing, etc.

Brett was easy. He wanted a trip to the beach because, I’ve come to believe, he was a merman in a previous life. Not really, but his blood could very well be part sea salt because my man speaks Ocean very well. A storm was brewing so we didn’t stay long, but we did get an hour of making our girls very happy–which is a birthday present in itself for Brett.

And Nella’s working on her sea legs…

And his only birthday request? He wanted me to take Lainey to the dollar store and let her pick out what she thought Brett should have for his birthday. And he was adamant about it. Even called me in the store and said, “You’re not helping, right? You’re letting her pick it out all by herself?” And I answered, “Dude, I’m holding a sombrero, a bike horn and a poly-resin horse…what do you think?”

And watching her in that dollar store? My cheeks were sore from smiling. Pure joy. Besides the fact the carpet smells a little bit like cat pee and the end caps are full of expired Cracker Jacks, we had so much fun on our little shopping spree. She meandered through each aisle, holding a growing pile of crap and I can’t count how many times she said, “Him gonna be so excited. Him gonna lub ‘dis.”

And when we returned home, she wrapped every gift all by herself. Cutting a ski-jawed edge along cheap puppy paper, pulling long stretches of Scotch tape that got twisted and stuck to her fingers, rolling up the edges of the wrapped mess and attempting to close it shut in some sort of presentable manner.

And when Brett opened each present, she beamed so proudly. Of course he made over the poly-resin horse with all sorts of “oohs” and “ahhs.” And he loved the grandpa reading glasses she chose for him. And the water gun. And the beer coolie (okay, she pegged him there). And, once again, I was reminded how much the little things matter so very much.

And we’ve got the horse to prove it.

And the best part? The beautiful card she chose for her daddy. It had a kitten on it. And it was pink. And, in lovely scrolled writing, it said…”For a Special Granddaughter.”

Dude, we do birthdays up right.

A dinner at Brett’s mama’s put the cherry on top where, once again, we sang a round of “Happy Birthday”, dimmed the lights and watched as one of our blessed souls thanked their blessings for another year and made pretty wishes for the next.

Happy Birthday, Daddy. Even though you’re right behind me reading this while I type.

As for the rest of the week…

Note to Self: Before you wear cheap sunglasses and pass them off as hip, maybe remember removing the $5 sticker. I’m just sayin’. Because after running errands a couple places, I returned to my car in the parking lot, shot a glance toward the rear view mirror to confirm that yes, my new sunglasses were as hot as I thought they were and…um, yes. They’re hot alright.

So, the moral of this post can be summarized by something like this: Birthdays are cool. Dollar store crap is cool. And being told I landed in Holland when I was expecting Italy only lasted for a little while before I was bitch-slapped by the beautiful reality that life has a trillion trials, but it also has the potential for sheer wonderfulness and happiness and go-out-and-get-it grandeur. And my two little beauties can take me anywhere they want to go from the windmill-speckled spaces of Holland to the gondola-strewn streams of Italy.

Amen! Preach it, Sistah!

Oh, church ain’t out yet, so just mind your pew there for one more second.

First, our happy place here has been nominated for the 2010 BlogLuxe Award. So please vote if you can. We’re in three different categories, so make sure you check Enjoying the Small Things for all three categories: Best Eye Candy, Blogs You’ve Learned the Most From, and Most Inspiring. Thank you so much for the nomination. Click on the button below to vote, and I’ll be putting the button on the sidebar here too (soon).

Thank you, thank you!

And finally, we haven’t had a giveaway in awhile so how ’bout THREE things to giveaway?!

I’ll choose (random.org generated) three comments to win one of the following prizes…

One of the sun bonnets Nicole makes for my girls…

(Winner can choose any bonnet from her shop, and if you order one this week, she’ll refund your shipping if you mention in a note to seller, you saw her bonnet here)

And two other winners will win hand-embellished flip-flops from my friend, Suzanne’s Snappy Soles.

Lainey’s been wearing her flippies since she was a baby, and I just got new ones last week.

Love me some nice beach feet.

One winner will receive a skull & crossbones pair and one will receive a child’s ribbon bling pair. Winners will be announced next post.

Oh, we’ve got a nice rest of the week ahead. A quiet wedding on the beach tomorrow night for my friend, Poppa comes in, and Brett and I will set out on the first date in a long time Thursday for our anniversary. Sounds like Italy to me. Or maybe it was Holland. Regardless…it’s all good.

(Her Cabbage Patch smile…love it)