We’ve had gifts stashed under our tree for a few days now. Wes hasn’t seemed to notice. Yesterday, when we were playing near the tree, he suddenly noticed the presents and started removing them and stacking them nearby. I helped him put them back.

This morning I emerged from making breakfast in the kitchen to find him in the living room with a pile of presents around him. I helped him put them back.

Later this morning we were playing up in his room. More like, I was reading a book and holding Carissa while Wes dumped his dirty laundry from the basket and put it back in, over and over again. One of his favorite things to do.

After about a half hour of that I went in the other room for a few minutes. When I came out, Wes was no longer in his room. His laundry was gone (although the basket–empty–was in his closet where it belongs).

I went to the end of the hall and peered over the banister to the living room below.

A new look for our tree. Plus, he opened a gift from my folks. At least it was addressed to him AND John and me.

This month we took Wes to the annual Christmas activity for families of kids with special needs in our county. There are a lot of kids with Down syndrome around here.

I remember first attending this event when Wesley was just three months old. We were adjusted to the fact that our son has Down syndrome by then, but I wasn’t ready to consider what Wes would be like when he’s older. It was hard for me to hold my tiny infant son in my arms and look around at the older kids and young adults with DS and see my son becoming them. It was scary to me. A little uncomfortable. I couldn’t process it yet.

Now Wes is three. This year when we attended the party, where there were more kids with Down syndrome in the same room than I’ve ever seen before, I was relieved to realize that I wasn’t uncomfortable or scared anymore. I guess some things take a little time.

Here’s Wes through the years with Santa at the party.

Dec. 2007: 3 months old
Not aware and doesn’t care.

Dec. 2008: 1 year old
A little more aware and willing to care.

We missed the 2009 party.

Dec. 2010: 3 years old
Well aware and doesn’t care.

But he liked the coloring table and spent about 30 minutes there.

Lately I have found myself feeling wistful for days past. This week I was in the company of several young college students at a CPR course. I was the only college grad among them, probably about ten years their senior. As we waited for the instructor to begin, one girl looked around, bright-eyed, and cheerfully asked what we were all going into. I hadn’t heard that phrase, “going into,” for a long time. Ten years ago it was one of those things I’d hear a lot: “What’s your major?” “What’re you going into?” This time I had to laugh to myself because I’m not going into anything anymore. I’m there. I’m in it.

All these young people around me were on the brink of their adulthood. What an exciting time! What kind of life will you mold for yourself? What do you want to be when you grow up? That’s when you start to figure things out.

I looked at these girls and thought about what it was like to be where they are, living life a little more carefree than I do now. Life was less about others and more about me, then. I took care of myself and myself alone. My focus was school, my part-time job, being social, having fun when I wasn’t studying or in class or taking a test. I may have felt like I was overwhelmed with responsibility, but, looking back, I wasn’t. I was so free and didn’t know it. In some ways, I miss that time.

But as I kept looking at these students, I noticed I was the only one married. The ring on my finger has been there nine years. I remember being where these girls are and wanting so badly to meet The One I Would Marry, whoever he would be. I knew college was important, but I also knew I wanted a companion. I wanted to marry. I wanted a home and a family.

I have that now. I’m in a stable, married, eternal relationship and am building upon that sure foundation with children. I am loved like I never thought I could be loved. I love like I never thought I could love.

With these blessings comes a lot of heavy, adult responsibility. Sometimes I look at myself–with a husband, two kids, a mortgage, insurance payments, medical bills, grocery lists, laundry lists, dirty dishes, dirty toilets, dirty diapers, and all–and I say, “Am I really old enough for all this? When I did I become an adult?”

You’re hardly ever alone anymore, with kids. When you’re single, you don’t want to be alone forever. And then, once you’re not alone, you’re really not alone. You can’t even use the bathroom alone. If you try to, either the toddler sits outside whining and banging on the door, or he’s in the other room pulling books off the shelves or pushing toys under the stove or taking DVDs out of their cases.

Shopping used to be fun, when I could go to unwind and look at pretty things. Now it’s more of a strategic event, involving careful timing between naps and packing sufficient snacks, drinks, diapers, formula, bottles, backup bottles, toys, etc. And then it becomes an athletic event as you lug not only the kid supplies but the kids themselves through a store in a cart, stroller, baby carrier, or gripping them by the hand or balancing them on a hip–or maybe some combination of these. I don’t go anywhere with both kids unless the store offers carts, and I don’t buy food anywhere that doesn’t have a drive-through.

I used to have time to exercise, uninterrupted. Now I sometimes put my workout clothes on first thing in the morning and stay in them all day long, trying to grab a 20-60 minute period where both kids don’t need anything long enough for me to get something done. I guess it’s good news that the ACSM has found that 10-minute bursts of physical exercise is good enough if you can get several of those in a day. But it is frustrating, trying all day long to get that done and often failing.

I miss not being tired. I miss waking up because my body is ready to wake up, and not because the baby is crying or the toddler is awake next door and banging his bottle against the wall and jumping on the bed.

And, yes, the body isn’t the same after it has carried and borne new life. My feet are bigger. My tummy softer. My legs bumpier with varicose veins and more painful. My back is chronically sore from my last pregnancy, and I don’t fit into the clothes I wore a year ago.

And yet…

How can I say I’m not happy? How can I say I’m not the luckiest, most blessed gal on Earth, with what I have? Even while typing this I paused about eight times for the kids. I played with toys with Wesley. I fed Carissa. I changed both their diapers. I helped Wes brush his teeth. We said prayers together. I asked him for a big hug before bed, and he gave it to me.

When your three-year-old is burying his head in your neck and wrapping his arms around you for a long snuggle, or when your angelic twelve-pound baby is lying relaxed and warm and content in your lap just after a feeding, how can you not be grateful?

I may not feel like I’m old enough, wise enough, ready enough for all that adulthood and parenthood are, but I’m doing it. Sometimes I do miss what life was like before, the simplicity. But I am a life-giver and a life-keeper now. That, I suppose, is good enough.

We hosted Thanksgiving for my mom and sister’s family. What is Thanksgiving without a formal table setting?

The kids were more informal.

And because I’m a giver, here’s the recipe I used to make Chocolate Bavarian Pie, the pie which, when John tasted it, caused him to exclaim, “It tastes good! I’m surprised!” Which basically sums up my sad baking skills.

But the reason it tasted so good is because I followed the recipe (from Hershey’s Best Loved Recipes).

Chocolate Bavarian Pie

Ingredients

* 1 envelope unflavored gelatin
* 1-3/4 cups milk, divided
* 2/3 cup sugar
* 6 tablespoons HERSHEY’S Cocoa
* 1 tablespoon light corn syrup
* 2 tablespoons butter
* 3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 1 cup (1/2 pt.)cold whipping cream
* 1 baked 9-inch pie crust or crumb crust, cooled

Directions

1. Sprinkle gelatin over 1 cup milk in medium saucepan; stand several minutes to soften.

2. Stir together sugar and cocoa; add to milk mixture. Add corn syrup. Cook, stirring constantly, until mixture boils. Remove from heat. Add butter; stir until melted. Stir in remaining 3/4 cup milk and vanilla. Pour into large bowl. Cool; refrigerate until almost set.

3. Beat whipping cream in small bowl on high speed of mixer until stiff. Beat chocolate mixture on medium speed until smooth. On low speed, add half of the whipped cream to chocolate mixture, beating just until blended. Pour into prepared crust; refrigerate until set, at least 3 hours. Just before serving, garnish with remaining whipped cream. Cover; refrigerate leftover pie. 8 servings.

This past week turned out kinda differently than I had planned.

Wes was sick over the weekend. He woke up several times Saturday night, I think because he was dry heaving. He slept pretty much all day Sunday. Occasionally I’d pull him out of bed when he was awake to see if he wanted to watch Barney or Signing Time, but he’d fall asleep again after a few minutes. He threw up a few times after I tried to give him something to drink. On Monday he was better, playing and acting a lot more normally, even eating pretzels and drinking diluted milk.

Both kids had a doctor’s appointment on Monday. It was Carissa’s two-month checkup and Wesley’s three-year one. I knew it’d be a little tiring for me, keeping a handle on Wes and keeping him from touching things he shouldn’t at a doctor’s office while keeping Carissa content. Carissa was scheduled for immunizations, but the surprise was that Wes needed a booster shot, and we decided to give him a flu shot too.

I managed to get both kids through their various weighings and measurings, pokings and proddings, and both came away appearing healthy and growing. Carissa is already 9 lbs 10 oz and 22 inches long, up from 7 lbs 9 oz and 19.5 inches at birth. That’s 23rd percentile for weight and 38th for length. Wes is 27 lbs and 34.5 inches. On the “typical kid” chart, that’s 11th percentile for weight and 2nd for height. It would be a higher percentile on the DS chart.

When it came time for shots I opted for Wes to get his first so he could calm down a little before Carissa got hers. Good decision. He cried, of course, but he got over it once he saw that Carissa was getting something done to her. He was more concerned about her than him and quickly forgot his own little pokes. Carissa, I have to say, did not handle the shots especially gracefully. I don’t remember Wes as a baby crying quite as much or as long as she did. It took a while for her to calm down. But at least both kids weren’t crying at once.

Wes was fussy and cranky the rest of the day, probably because he wasn’t feeling all that great. I had planned to go to a Zumba class that night once he was in bed. I needed the exercise and sometimes it’s nice to do something just for me. Frankly, I was a little tired of cleaning up throw up. Even the cat had thrown up. I settled Wes in bed a little after 8 and about three minutes after I left him I heard him crying. I went to check on him and he had thrown up. Everywhere. I changed his clothes, changed his sheets. Cleaned the carpet. Cleaned the mattress and crib rails. Started laundry. Got him settled again and by then it was close to 10 p.m. Time for bed.

Tuesday he was even better. However, a couple hours before I had to leave to teach my first Zumba class I started feeling not-so-great. But I went and taught my class anyway. I took a bottle of Sprite for my tummy. Class was actually pretty good, but the further into it the more sick I got. By the end I was not doing so great. Afterward I sat a few minutes to gather my strength and a couple of my students kindly offered to help me out to my car. I had one more class to teach, but I was able to find a sub on short notice, which I was grateful for.

I went home feeling miserable and crashed. I think I was pretty dehydrated. After several hours of sipping water and sleeping I started to feel better. The next day was better.

On Thursday I was going to send Wes back to school (we kept him home on Tuesday as he recovered). I was excited because usually I use that time he’s at school for getting things done related to work, but since I had a sub lined up for my class that night, I could use those hours for something purely fun or me-oriented. And Wes was so excited, sitting out on the front porch with his denim jacket and backpack and lunchbox all packed, waiting for the bus. And it didn’t come. And didn’t come. And didn’t come. The bus has been late before, but after a while I finally put 2 and 2 together and realized that’s Fall Break and there is no school.

So Plan B was to take Wes and Carissa for a ride in the car to Walmart so he could still go somewhere and I could get some errands accomplished. It wasn’t exactly fun or me-oriented, but it was productive. We go and get everything on the list, the kids are both being good, and we finish up with just enough time to get Wes home in time for his nap. Perfect.

Then I’m standing in line with all our items on the conveyor belt when I fish through my purse and realize my wallet’s at home. Dang it.

So I apologize to the clerk and tell her I’ll be back soon, take both kids back to the car, drive home, get the wallet, and drive back to Walmart. By this time Wes is dead asleep. I pull him from the car and into the cart, but he can’t stay awake. He keeps nodding off and wanting to lay his head on the front handle. I was so worried the Walmart cashier would be all snotty with me for forgetting my wallet, but I was relieved to find she was a nice cashier! She had set aside all my bags and simply scanned the receipt so I could pay for it. Then she looked at Wes and said she has a friend with Down syndrome, and she thinks her friend is more normal than not. Which I agreed with. And then she said, “I think he may give you a run for your money.” Which I also agreed with.

So that’s the week so far. A few more days to go.