My son is 2 1/2 years old. By the end of the day I am exhausted, worn out, pooped if you will. My son has Down syndrome. He has “special needs.” You might be thinking, “Wow, dealing with all those ‘special needs’ must wear you out, run you down.” Or, “I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t handle it. You’re a superhero. God chose you for a reason.” And every night when it’s time for me to crawl into bed I am thoroughly exhausted. But I’m not a superhero. And God didn’t have some “special” plan for me.
I’m exhausted because I’m the mom of a 2 1/2- year-old little boy. I’m the mom of an every day, totally typical ball of chaos. I’m the mom of a toddler.
I’m exhausted because he just learned how to climb and that’s all he wants to do. I’m worn out because he loves making messes. I’m tired because we spend hours dancing and screaming and playing and racing cars and singing songs. By the end of the night I’m pooped because he didn’t want to get out of the bath and 20 minutes later the water has gone cold and each of his perfect little fingers and toes are wrinkled and I’m behind on my chores because I couldn’t help myself but watch him laugh and explore and play.
Oliver is an early bird. When he wakes up, he wakes up fast and hard, and he’s ready to take on the day. When he wakes up, there’s barely enough time for coffee before the terrible 2s commence. So we get up and have breakfast. We watch “The Secret Life of Pets” at least once and we will probably watch it again before the day is over. We get dressed and we run errands. He helps with the laundry by unfolding every piece I’ve just completed. We do all the hand gestures to the itsy-bitsy spider about 30 times in a row. Sometimes he just likes to walk back and forth across the room and laugh to himself because he finally figured out how to move his legs in an upright position.
He’s a daredevil, he’s messy, he’s a goofball, he’s a kid. He isn’t challenging or exhausting or a steep mountain to overcome because of Down syndrome — he is all those things despite it.
On Mondays our friend Michael comes and does physical therapy with us for one hour, and on Wednesdays our friend Florence comes and does speech therapy with us for one hour. We see the doctor regularly. Sometimes a little more than average. But most of our days are filled with laughter and messes and Oliver constantly trying to cheat death by falling off of things. I clean up the same toys at least 17 times a day. My most used phrase is, “don’t touch that.”
I’m not a superhero. I wasn’t chosen for anything “special.” There was no set path that God planned for me because I am a stronger person than the next. I’m just a mom raising a toddler, trying to keep him fed and clothed and maybe teach him some things along the way.
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