Lion and Magic Boy

Having three children at home can be, shall we say, trying at times. One of the biggest challenges of late has been appeasing the Middle Child, who sees her older brother as leading a glamorous life, doing all the things she doesn’t actually want to do but does now because he’s doing them. I know about this, because I was the little sister of an older brother too. It doesn’t help that he’s really really good at a lot of things. Evidently Older Brother has made Mastery of Things a goal for his life, as he juggles, walks on stilts, plays chess and the cello, and draws, all quite well for a boy of 10, and all things Middle Six can’t do (except the drawing).

Middle Six has become very interested in the concept of fairness, as in, “Am I getting everything HE’S getting?” I assure her, over and over, that while life isn’t always “fair”, that is, equal, I love all of them the same.

The youngest usually gets the very shortest end of the stick in so many ways, but when it’s Eric, all bets are off. Eric is not shy about insisting on the things he wants. I thought for awhile after he was born that he would be the Easy Child, which was fine and a bit of relief after Drama Elder Daughter Jess, Intense and Emotional Elder Son Nathaniel, and Double Emotional Younger Daughter Serena, but I have already observed that Eric had other plans.

Despite Eric’s strong opinions, the physical world has been difficult for him. Awarded lax joints and weak muscles by the Down syndrome gods, Eric has found it hard to move. Given an unpredictable digestive system, every bite must count. Tiny at birth, Eric took a long time trying to catch up, and has since given up on that and has instead settled into the body of someone about 2/3 his age.

It’s not that he doesn’t work at things; he does. Over and over. He cheerfully repeats the same syllable over and over, hoping we’ll eventually understand the word he hears so clearly in his mind but that his mouth refuses to enunciate. Once he figured out that we give applause for his activities like standing without holding on to anything, he gleefully practices this over and over, falling with a thump each time onto his diaper-clad bottom. I think to myself, “That’s got to hurt,” but no, there’s Eric, bottom in the air, then slowly straightening up, legs slightly bent and askew, but with a triumphant grin on his face.

Tonight Eric, motivated by the handful of M&Ms Serena was clutching, walked his first steps alone in an attempt to get closer to them. And again later, he walked several steps alone simply in the course of our playing a game, one of many little games routinely made up at the spur of the moment during a typical day.

Eric is 3 years old.

I remember thinking when he was about 18 months, when he could barely sit up and certainly couldn’t crawl, couldn’t even roll over, that he might never walk.

I remember Jessica’s first steps, 22 years ago: she sat and watched us closely for a couple of weeks, then one day got up and did it on her own. She was 13 months old.

I remember Nathaniel’s first steps, 10 years ago: attracted to a large ball that was almost his size, we rolled it just out of his reach, forcing him to take the couple of steps we already knew he could take in order to reach the ball. He was 14 months old.

I remember Serena’s first steps, 6 years ago: Jess decided to take matters into her own hands, literally, and she held Serena’s hands and walked her up and down the living room one day and then simply let go. Serena began to run and didn’t stop running until she was about 4. She was 14 months old.

I know I will remember Eric’s first steps, too. As magical as all the children’s first-step moments were, somehow Eric’s might be just a smidge more meaningful. No, it’s not “fair”, or even equal. But life isn’t always like that.

[tags]down syndrome, first steps, fair[/tags]