Addison walks.

It didn’t really happen out of the blue, though it is still a big surprise.

One foot follows the other and then all those days of standing and falling and waiting and trying come together, brewed to an off-beat perfection.

Addison walks. Amen to all that.

If you’d like to see footage of the amazing event, go here.

Now, we’ve got to run…I’ve got this toddler getting into everything!

It’s easy to wake up and figure out what we don’t have: no sunshine, no money, no husband, no eggs for breakfast, no sugar for my coffee, no time to fit it all in.

There is this story of a man who has five children. He’s going crazy because his house is too small. He goes to the village wise man and asks him for a solution. The wise man tells him to move his cow into the house.

Excuse me?

But the wise man was wise, so the man did it. But he was so upset at having so much less room in house, he went back to the wise man. The wise told him to put his horse in the house. Bewildered and a tad upset, he marched home and told his wife they needed to bring the horse in the house. Now, it was really getting crowded. The man went back in hopes the wise man came to his senses with a different solution.

The wise man then instructed him to put his sheep and chickens in the house. The man almost lost it, but figured since he’d gone this far he would do as the wise man said. Needless to say, the wife and kids were quite unhappy.

He returns to the wise man and says: Man, you gotta help me. This is just not working! The wise man then tells him to take all the animals out of his house. The man goes home; takes all the animals out; and can’t believe how big his house is!

We have a choice.

1. Appreciate what we have, thus opening the door for more to come.

2. Whine about what we don’t have until we loose it and THEN we’ll appreciate it.

Since I’ve been working number one most of my life, I’ve skipped on to number 2. And in case I ever forget all the wonderful gifts and joy in my life, I have messages everywhere telling me to get it together and appreciate.

Addison struggles every day to walk. I use my legs without a thought. Today, I am thankful for my legs. Addison has developmental speech challenges. I babble on like a chicken most of the time. Today, I am grateful for my normal sized tongue, and my teeth, and my ability to speak.

Every day I walk and talk is a downright miracle. That’s what it’s like to live with Down Syndrome.

(And in case you want another miracle, check this out.)

I ducked into a café to grab an espresso. The nanny declined so she walked with Addison around the small plaza. The espresso was piping hot, so I set my grocery bags down and waited for the brew to cool.

Plaza Mayor is a small mall with an Auto Mercado for groceries and a cine in Rohromser near la Sabana park. A few shops huddle together between walkways. Often on weekends, small crafts and artisan’s will display their wares. Addison bored quickly with the wooden carvings, and I watched as the nanny walked him to the next table. A cherub-like woman began chatting with them. I finished the joe and gathered up my bags. When I arrived, the woman was cradling a cute, homemade plump doll. The kind you’d want to sleep with. She was singing a song and had won Addison over.

As soon as I caught up with them, my nanny began telling me what the woman had said about Addison:

Addison is a great spirit, a divine soul that has come to this earth for us. He’s wearing a suit, his body, so that he can walk with us, be with us.

The nanny and I looked at each other wide-eyed. Just the other day, we were saying the same thing. In fact one day, I had knelt next to Addison’s chair while he shuffled his favorite deck of cards of animals.

“Are you an old wise man from Poland that’s come back to this earth?”

He shook his head no.

From Russia?

Another no.

England then?

He paused and mixed his cards around. Then, he nodded “yes” and even wiggled his feet up and down in agreement.

The nanny told the woman selling crafts that we’d just talked about this same thing. The woman said she got goose pimples and couldn’t believe it.

“People should not pity these children, they should rejoice in them,” she said. “We have to know what a great gift these kids are.”

I leaned over and Addison slung his hands around me neck and hugged me. Then he kissed my cheek with a loud “smack.” I wanted to stay and talk to the lady some more, but the bags around my wrist were cutting off my circulation.

Addison blew the lady a kiss, and it was like watching a teenager touch the hand of Elvis. She swooned. As we walked down to the parking ramp, the nanny told me that the woman had begged her to bring Addison over to her, and if it was O.k. to stroke his hair and talk to him.

As I buckled Addison in, he grabbed his toes. Those angels, I thought, you just never know when you’re going to bump into one. Makes me think Elvis just might be alive afterall.

In this grocery store I go to in Costa Rica, when an overstocked item isn’t moving, the manager has the box boy/girl get out the yellow tape (the kind that looks just like the yellow police tape they use in crime scenes) and adhere some sort of oferta. Sometimes I can get two boxes of cookies for the price of one, but other times I’ll chuckle at the odd mix of items taped together. Once I bought plastic containers and got Christmas mugs. I mean who can resist having more plastic bowls and lids crowding the cupboard with also getting Christmas gifts for the bus driver, teacher, and ballet instructor all in one?

That’s what Down Syndrome is like. Each parent walks out with this child that has these “things” added to them as if a quirky store manager added them to their gene pool at the last second. Almost all kids will have a problem with a larger tongue, but the size and amount of difference could be enormous in the implications of speech development and sleeping through the night. Maybe a child will have heart problems, or vision problems, or always need support walking, or hearing problems, or shorter limbs, or severe retardation, or……..

Upon leaving the hospital with Addison, I could perhaps, perhaps, pinpoint two characteristics he had taped around his development. It will - and shall - take years and years to unravel all of Addison’s potential, and the paths he takes to adulthood. Now that we’re into our third year of “Down Syndrome-hood” I can pinpoint a few more and feel accuracy with my diagnosis. Yes, my diagnosis. Doctor’s are in invaluable tool to helping me sort out all the bargains and mystery products attached to Addison’s development. But I make the diagnosis and feel quite qualified to do so. I live with this thing 7/24/365.

Addison happens to have a slow path to walking. It’s very visible and obvious that Addison doesn’t walk. And I get both ends of concern and encouragement. Some think Addison is doing perfectly. A British woman I met the other night has a niece with Downs and said in that accent that makes all English people sound confident and delightfully poignant: Of course he’s not walking yet! Goodness he had Down Syndrome! My niece didn’t walk until she was four. Then there are others who are so concerned that he’s not walking, surely there must be something more we, which is me, can do. For the life of me, I can’t think of it.

Addison’s slow-to-walk “thing” also lends to support the fact that he just doesn’t digest food very well. If the leg muscles are slow, so must be the digestive muscles. And since he had major surgery on this part of his body at birth to correct a system that grew all wrong. I can’t help but think the development of those little thingies that make bacteria, digest food, and assimilate nutrition are a bit off too.

All of society has a hard time watching anyone not eat. Try it. Sit with a group of people eating and don’t eat. It’s socially important we almost panic when someone doesn’t eat. The grandma serving up a third slice of apple pie is just an exaggerated example of what we all feel: Eat and we shall bond! I love you if you eat what I give you! I feel funny if you don’t eat. This includes me.

A dear friend of mine in her late 80s developed a severe problem with her esophagus and couldn’t swallow. Anything. Sitting with her while I chowed down was terribly uncomfortable. Although I grew accustomed to pouring her food into a bag which went into a tube in her stomach, I always felt unease at eating in front of her.

Addison can only eat certain things. I didn’t make up his diet out of the blue. This plan came out of years of living with this child (24/7/365) and going years without a good night’s sleep. Finally, I have a system that works. Not only doesn’t Addison sleep, but he gets pretty darned good nutrition. It’s just different than what we’re used to. A lot of things society thinks he should have, I forbid because he either chokes, or he’s up all night because his system can’t digest it and that means his overall development slows. It also means I don’t sleep. An overtired parent isn’t good for any child’s development.

Addison’s cold zapped me back to hard-learned lessons. My hope the mucus would run out of his nose like any other child, and we’d have a few restless nights vanished as I spent the night trying to keep the child breathing and watched the clock tick as my hopes for any sleep left with the rising sun.  A long stretch of “progress” was quickly interrupted with reminders of how fast Addison can turn sick again. Respiratory problems are one of our Down Syndrome “things.”

But the next night was better than the last. And that too, is how it goes with Down Syndrome, day by day, poco a poco, we get to that place of walking and talking and eating like every one else. Yet, I have a sneaking feeling we aren’t like everyone else at all. A diagnosis I feel quite happy to live with.

I spent a lot of time in parkas. And in those really chilly months of deep snow and freezing temperatures, I jammed my legs into ski pants and bundled from head to toe in scarfs, mittens, and sweaters inside that parka. As soon as we began spending more time indoors, we all got colds. When I moved to Costa Rica, colds - resfriados - colds came right along with us.*

Coco has a cough that won’t leave her five minutes of peace. Last night, she got up at one o’clock and searched me out with the flashlight. The cough woke her up. I applied a few things to her nose and throat and got her to sleep sitting up. Finally, she drifted off.

Addison’s eyes have been glued shut for the last two mornings. His cold has attacked his eyes, which makes it a less dramatic event and lessenes the stuffy nose, (which is reallly hard on him because of his smaller airways from the Down Syndrome).

The funny thing is the reasons we get colds seem to be the same whether we have snow or rain or wind; palm trees or oaks; tank tops or parkas:

“This time of year everyone gets a cold.”

“Oh, you’re all wet, now you’ll catch a cold.”

“All the kids in school have it.”

The cold virus knows no boundaries or limits. It crossed borders and cultures at ease, and in it’s own annoying way, makes me feel right at home.

*La gripe is often interchanged when someone has a cough or cold, but it actually means the flu.

Costa Rica is fabulous bird watching territory. Hundreds of species live here year round and winter here. Since I couldn’t spot a mot mot unless it was in a cage and pointed out to me, I hunt out flowers. They’re easier to pin down as they don’t move and are almost a different color than the branches, stems of vines. Where as birds wiggle and fly and are often the same color as the tree. Whenever I try to get a picture of a beautiful bird, they’re gone.

My latest catch is this fluffy thing bursting right out of a tree in front of an ugly barn-like store. As hundreds of cars pull up to buy all their stuff, I wonder how many wonder at the miracle as the exit the lot. I have no idea what it’s called. And since I’m not good with names either, I think I just enjoy it for what it is.

(If you do want to see some outstanding bird and wildlife photos, check out one of my favorite, favorite sights @ Sandpiper’s Place. She’s up in the “north land” and dare I say it?? She even makes me miss snow just a little bit. Mind you, just a little bit.)

I think I figured out what all that crying was about. While I was pregnant with Addison, I knew there was a chance he’d be born with Down Syndrome. However, since we knew with 90 percent certainty that he’d need surgery, I pushed the 30 to 40 percent chance he’d be born with the extra chromosome somewhere in the back of my mind. I could research about the surgery, but when I looked at the Down Syndrome sites, I couldn’t bear it. It was too much emotional and intellectual information all at once.

Then he was born.

The moment I touched his pudgy little arm, I knew. I didn’t have to be told anything. And I cried. Yes, I cried. Grief was everywhere I looked. I cried alone in the hospital when I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the florescent light above my bed; I cried when I saw Addison with all those tubes, stitches, and machines attached to him. I cried when my eggs were runny.

I knew it wasn’t about the eggs. What do parents grieve when we get the “news” that our child has something “wrong” with them? After three years of therapists, doctors, natural-paths, swimming instructors, yoga instructors, well-intended friends, concerned relatives, teachers, and even the clerk in the pharmacy that has a niece with Down Syndrome, I think I’ve honed in on all that grief: When Addison was born, the gig was up. And I knew it. No more hiding behind the “normal” milestones and traditions I got my juice from. Coco walked at eleven months! Coco can color in the lines! And talk! And no more diapers! I can no longer compare myself to the world of what I used to consider “normal.” If I was an odd duck before my son was born, now I’m a duck living in the dessert with no pond to paddle in. The terrain looks a little bit familiar, but I’ve got to re-figure this map of life I was given.

From the moment I knew, I knew I’d have to change. For him. And for her. So the tears were really for me. Addison awoke the real warrior in me and forced the Cowardly Lion to shed her suit and go hunting in other lands. Addison has more courage than any old character from Oz. And as I shed my paws and whiskers, I don a new suit of Light and laughter.

Roar.

Running and walking around the streets of San Jose are a delicate yet crazy combination like scaling a tightrope and mud wrestling all at once. Downtown San José ranks a bit higher on quantity of sidewalks - as there actually is some sort of concrete acera along almost every street. The large gaping holes and buckled walk ways are a challenge, but I consider the capital easier to get around than most suburbs. Downtown traffic is more manageable on foot than by car. In the town of Escazu where I live, sidewalks are neither here and rarely there.

I’ve found a loop that I can run or walk for exercise that has some concrete sidewalk or a dirt path along the road. What you see in this photo is not an unusual obstacle. Once you get past the trash, there’s gooey puddles, barro, boulders, and no where to go except right up there with the 2000 pound hunks of metal being driven to work by tense and cranky drivers (remember these people are amazing pleasant when they get out of those cars…anyway…).

Most Costa Ricans just get right up on that 1/2 foot of asphalt between the mud and cars and walk. I stop and wait. Soon after this obstacle, there’s more piles of mud. It increases with depth and width with each rainfall.

The suburbs here are growing so fast that speeding cars and construction vehicles seem to be pushing and pushing our simple pleasures to the wayside where in the long run, we just end up being covered in mud.

Walking in the la Sabana, we came across this little corner of animals. All were up for adoption. I might as well have stepped into a gummie bear-chocolate-all-you-can-eat shop. Though Coco did pretty well, her face stopped looking joyous because I’d just bought her a beach ball. She wants a pet like I don’t want a pet. One more species to care for would put me over the edge. I’m trying not to be cold-hearted and look forward to the day the last guinea pig dies.

The faces are tough to look at, no matter if you want to take one home or not. This group was called amigos de los animales.* What work they have cut out for them. I suspect the treatment of animals is a symptom as to how we treat each other. Unfortunately because they speak a different language (that perhaps we choose to not understand) they become dumping grounds for all our human frustrations.

I remember when I was covering a conference in the Netherlands for a radio station, somehow the topic of stray animals came up. I asked someone what they did with their stray animals in the country. What programs did they have?

His reply: What strays?

This particular mutt had the eyes that at times in my life I would not have been able to resist. I mean look at that face. The other day, I was out running while Coco danced away in ballet, and I came across this partially crippled husky-like white dog. He was obviously dehydrated and in a bad way. Why me? Why place this dog in front of me, the sucker that wants to cure the whole world of everything? I told myself it was I had to let him go and couldn’t save the whole world, at least before ballet was over. He and I went in different directions.

Ten minutes later, there he was again. Again! Geez how can I resist twice? Now I was feeling helpless and horrible all at once. The dog split off to another block and stood next to a park, his tongue was too pink and all floppy like a filleted fish hanging from the side of a bucket.

I said to myself: Self, do you at least have something the dog could get water from if you run into him again? Save the world, no. A tiny speck of effort, O.k. I could do this. I filled a bottle with water and when I finished running, returned to the dog. He was still there but had moved to staring at the front door of a home.  I poured water into an discarded ice cream cup by the curb. Then I realized: Self, this is where the dog lives!

I hesitated ringing the door bell. What if it wasn’t the right house. But the dog kept looking at it as if he knew exactly where he was. This is when I get a little nervous about my Spanish also. I get mixed up when it comes to terms like dehydration, homeless stray, and why is the dog so crippled anyway?

I took a deep breath and buzzed the bell. A muffled voice came over the speaker. I asked them if perhaps they had a big white dog. There was a hmmmph and crackling on the other end. A minute later, a man opened the door, and the dog bolted inside. He was at the right home. The man said thank you and shut the door. I stood there for a second and then picked up the dish of water in the old ice cream cup.

I hope each one of these mutts up for adoption has a success story, someone that will help them snuggle in at night and flip them the bits of sausage left on the plate. Coco asked if when we do adopt a dog, she can pick it out. I said, sure. Why not?

*(phone 506-267-6011 email: consci@racsa.co.cr)

Then there’s the sibling. Coco.

My daughter’s been a full-fledged member of the drama since the beginning. I’ve hid nothing yet tried to balance what exactly it is a four year old can handle. Since I learned that there was something “wrong” with the fetus, Coco’s been absorbing and assimilating as best she can. Her reaction to the news that mami couldn’t leave the house for two months and her new sibling probably wouldn’t be coming home for awhile manifested into panic attacks when it rained. The funny thing about living in Costa Rica is that it rains an awful lot.

After a month in the hospital, I finally brought her brother home. For awhile, life passed with as normal as it gets with an infant that couldn’t sleep. She managed a stressed mom and eventually the panic attacks waned. They wore ridiculous Christmas outfits and looked for Easter baskets just like the other kids. Though I’ve never hid anything, I also didn’t sit her down and tell her much as I knew she’d ask when she was confused or needed a point in the right direction.

When Coco noticed Addison didn’t walk like the other kids his age, and even a few younger ones passed him up, she queried. I told her Addison had a problem with his muscles that all related back to that time in the hospital. It seemed to quench her thirst, and we went on into the land of divorce and a new home.

After that stressed passed, one day she asked:

What is Down Syndrome or syndrome de down?

I related the story back to that muscle problem and said other children had it too. She continued eating and then proceeded to read her brother a box of Clifford books.

Focusing so much on the child that needs all that extra attention, therapy, effort, (and then there’s that exercise machine in the middle of the living room) can drain a seven year old. I forget to give her credit where credit is due as she’s got Down Syndrome in her life also. As Addison’s sibling, she might also have extra responsibilities as an adult when she’d rather be running off to London or Paris.

Coco and Addison are integrated into the good ol’ world as best as we can manage the ups and downs and dramas. In fact, these two little monkey hang with the best of them. I feel so normal, sometimes I want just want to howl.