Falling in Love and Stuff
This is how I know I am falling in love:
I want to spend all my hours with him. I could stare at his sweet face all day and never get bored. I could tell you in detail what he likes and dislikes, what makes him laugh, what makes him cry, and why his voice sounds like music.
Every time I look at him I feel proud that he is mine.
Every time he accomplishes something new, it's like receiving a wrapped gift I wasn't expecting.
Every time he rests his head on my shoulder, puts his arms around my neck, and nuzzles his face against mine, I realize I am head over heels in love with this kid.
Yesterday, K had his first official clinic day at the Down syndrome program. He saw six specialists in four hours and we were all wiped out by the end. There's nothing like hearing Harvard doctors tell you over and over again that your son is remarkable. Of course, we already knew that. But it's nice to know the brilliant people see it, too.
We felt encouraged that everything the Down syndrome program specialists said confirmed what we've been hearing from K's regular doctors and therapists here at home. We've always known we are blessed by having excellent health care and services right in our own backyard, but this was a good reminder that we can keep trusting them with our son.
So, here's a scrapbook of our day:
We had our usual driving-to-the-city woes and arrived a half hour late to our appointment. No big deal. The weather was awful and it took everyone extra time to make it in to the hospital.
We entered the waiting room to the sight of a small boy sitting on a potty chair that was "discretely" wrapped in a trash bag. The chair was on top of one of the waiting room chairs, and the kid had his pull-up around his ankles. His parents were buzzing around him like nervous bees, while he did his business in full view. After he was finished, Dad zipped the results off to the public restroom where he walked in on Mark, who was fortunately just washing his hands. Sorry, sorry, his mum and dad kept apologizing to the room. It takes all kinds...
K visited the PT first, where he maneuvered all over a mat in super man mode, nearly sat up on his own, scooched his body to reach toys, and took breaks to feverishly lick the stripes on the mat.
Then he saw the speech pathologist where he made nary a sound, though we know he can babble with the best of them. Oh well.
The dentist was impressed with his cooperation. K thought those rubber-gloved chew toys...er, hands in his mouth were the best thing since mashed bananas.
The nutritionist gave the thumbs up on his growth, though at 14 pounds the little guy is in the -3 percentile for weight as compared to typical kids. For boys with Down syndrome, he's holding his own at the 25th percentile in both height and weight.
He passed his hearing test and was a trooper for the blood work.
The funniest moment of the day (other than the toilet scene) was watching the developmental pediatrician try to examine K. By the time she got to him, he was more than a little overtired and when K is tired he gets wild. The boy unraveled the roll of paper on the examination table like nobody's business...from behind his head, then proceeded to shred, twist, eat and crunch it. He made a beeline for an open box of markers on the windowsill, managed to shove the stethoscope into his mouth multiple times, and gummed the strap on the doctor's key ring no matter how far away she tried to move it. "You're going to have your hands full," was her final assessment. Great. We left that room looking like a band whirling dervishes had torn through it. "That's my boy," I thought. No one would ever guess it was a feisty 8-month old who did all that damage.
At the end of the day, Mark and I both decided the day was well worth the effort it took to pull it off. We learned a lot and we left feeling proud of our little boy. "Do you ever feel competitive about K?" Mark asked. "I feel like I want to put him head-to-head with all the other kids here and see what he does." He'd kick some butt, that's what. And we both knew it.
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