This post is hard to write, yet one that I find myself unable to press forward without expressing. These past few weeks I have been struggling. Yes lack of sleep, yes trying to figure out a new tiny person, yes hitting survival mode and holding on for dear life...but the root of my struggles go far deeper than that.

The first baby placed into my arms, making me a mother, has an extra chromosome. With that extra chromosome comes a lot of different labels, one of the harder ones to swallow being "mentally retarded"

But as a new mother, once I overcame my initial shock of the diagnosis, I welcomed my extra chromosomed baby into my life with arms ready to operate her g-tube, feet determined not to trip over her oxygen cord that stretched the length of the house, eyes that saw only her beauty, ears that rejoiced in her babbles and never worried that it never turned into actual talking.

She was my normal. She was all I knew. I rarely thought of the mental retardation label or how different her babyhood has been because to me, she was a genius- every act that she completed was appropriately celebrated- she was perfect and just the way she was meant to be.

Enter into my life a brand new baby. Carter. A very average, normal baby.

When he lifted his head off of my chest and stared me in the eye when he was only a couple of hours old, I almost had a heart attack. Babies can do that without months of therapy? When he flipped his strong body into a roll over for the first time last week, I was even more amazed. When I saw him scoot forward in his crib the other day, I shook my head and wondered what I had gotten myself into.

He has already "accomplished" more in his meager 2 weeks of life than Addison had in her first 6 months (he can breathe and eat...so he already had her there)
I find myself subconsciously comparing them. I know I'm not supposed to do that. I realize that makes me a horrible mother. But I have found myself to be wrapped up in a bit of normal baby shock.

All of a sudden I realize, what exactly I missed out on with Addison. All of a sudden, her delays seem loud and glaring whereas before they were merely part of her uniqueness. I see the way that Carter looks at me with such clarity whereas Addison's gaze leaves me wondering if she's comprehending anything I say. I see how strong he is and I joy in the act of nursing my baby. I cuddle him and love on him and remember that at this point in Addison's life, I still wasn't allowed to hold her. He holds with a tight grip onto my finger while he eats, sucking with such ease. I worked nonstop with Addison for FOUR MONTHS to get her to be able to sustain herself by drinking from a bottle. When he wants something- he screams a bloodcurdling, over-the-top dramatic scream and waves his arms desperately. Addison's lungs were so compromised that she never truly screamed and her cries were weak and short lived.
For the first time, I realize how truly different Addison is. And that realization hurts.

She is almost 20 months old and yet she is still getting several bottles a day. She's not talking. She's not walking. She refuses to sign. She is very much like a baby still herself, her achievements belying her age. She is very delayed, and I'm noticing in a new way everything that she should be doing.
And yet, the more that I have pondered this, the more I know that this doesn't change how I love her. It doesn't change the extreme fierceness of my love. My protective nature towards her hasn't faltered.

It just seems like now I can step back and see her the way perhaps the world sees her. I envision the slowness that I'm now seeing creeping up into her girlhood, her teenage years, her adulthood...and it hurts.

Because to me she will always be my perfect Addison. Her almond eyes, rosebud lips and button nose scream gorgeous perfection. Her giggles and face swallowing smiles are the light of my life. But seeing it-really seeing her slowness...breaks my heart. Because while I know that it doesn't take away from my love for her, I worry how the world will treat her as she grows. I worry what this means for how functional she will be as she grows. What if she never talks? What if she can never truly take care of herself?
The pain from her original diagnosis from two years ago has come back to haunt me...in a weird way.

I hold no regrets in everything I've done for Addison. I would do it all again because she is worth every little thing that we went through to sustain her through her very difficult first year of life.

But now I remember why I was so scared of Down syndrome. After all, isn't this every mother's worst nightmare? Isn't this why they're coming out with new tests to tell sooner and abort faster? Isn't this why 90% of women with this diagnosis choose to eliminate the unwanted fetus?
Carter has come into my life as a flash of bright color. He has shown me how it is supposed to be- and I have only known him for two weeks. Addison is a softer color that has crept into every part of my life in a pleasant way and slowly changed the way I view the world.

The way I see it- my life needs both of these colors. The softer color will balance out the bright color. The bright color will bring out new hues in the soft color that I didn't notice before. They will both be better because of each other.

Even though the diagnosis and labels now scare me in a new way, I don't hate Down syndrome. It just happens to be part of who Addison is, but in no way defines who she is. Her amazingly unique personality can't be fit into any stereotype, and she certainly isn't any less worthy of life than any other child.

And I love her. All of her. She is seriously so amazing- she has changed me so much it's taken a year and a half of constant blog posts to barely scratch the surface of those changes.
Noticing the difference between my two children doesn't mean that I love either of them less. I love them both equally, but differently (is that weird?) I am thankful for both of them, and I can't wait to see them start interacting with each other. I can't wait to see him catch up to her and then push her to a new level of achievement as her competitive juices get rolling. I can't wait to see how they balance each other out in life...their respective colors blending together to create a happy sibling relationship.

I've noticed Addison's slowness in a new way, but I'm moving on. I'm not going to let this drag me down and depress me (the lack of sleep is doing that pretty well on its own)

After all, every child is different; every child is unique; every child is perfect. I wrote a book about it, remember? (My agent is currently has my book...I'm taking a maternity leave of sorts...in case you were wondering)

I love my two perfectly created children. My house is a bit like a circus these days as they are both crying and wanting attention at the exact same time. My nights are split into tiny chunks feeding my newborn and checking in on my big girl. I shed new tears over things that I thought were long ago resolved.

But I wouldn't change my life. I love my little family and I love my nurturing role.

Mother. Such a complex word....