Smartypants

It's 2:22 pm and I'm listening to the most beautiful sound in the world.

I'm sitting at my computer in the front room, eating my breakfast cereal. I've been up all day, but after feeding Ada - the morning's first order of business! - and seeing Paul and Ellie off to work and school, I exercised for 45 minutes with Ada in a front carrier. That's the third time this week! Yay me! If I keep this up, I should be able to look in a mirror by the end of summer, and I do intend to look at myself in a mirror again someday soon.

Before I'd had time to sit down or stop sweating, I loaded Ada into the carseat and we headed out to the bank's drive-thru to deposit the last paycheck from Paul's old job. Wahoo! Paul has a new job just 10 minutes from home, no highway driving! With all new people, most of whom have vastly more positive attitudes than those he used to work with. Since his old job was a significant part of our marriage problems, this is especially welcome.

But I digress. When we got back from the bank, I changed and fed Ada, then nursed her again and put her down for a few minutes while I showered. I threw on some clothes and ran outside with wet hair to meet Ellie's bus. She was hungry immediately, so I prepared her lunch (extra cheesy Boca burger) while trying to hold a sleepy/fussy Ada.

When Adelaide started screaming, I sat down to feed her. Confession: I turned on the TV to relax while nursing. Ellie finished eating and curled up on the floor in front of Ellen. 15 minutes later, they were both asleep. I carried Ellie to bed for her nap, but Ada wouldn't be left alone for another hour or so. The two of us laid in my bed until Adelaide was deeply asleep and Ellie woke up.

Currently, Ellie's awake and in the family room watching her daily 22 minute allotment of Dora the Explorer while eating her afternoon snack (yogurt). I have a few minutes to myself, for computer and breakfast. Soon it will be time for games with Ellie, house-straightening, and dinner preparation.

But right now, now is a beautiful moment. The skies have opened with torrents of rain and the sky is suddenly dark. I'm listening to Ellie participating with her television show in the next room. "One, two, three, four, five, six," she's counting aloud.

She's counting aloud. She's counting aloud all on her own. She can count to twenty. And she counts everything, from buckles on the car seat to steps in every staircase we encounter. She is also learning her ABCs, and I'm not doing anything special to teach her, using none of the special Down syndrome learning tools. I've taken to calling Ellie my little smartypants. I mean it in a very positive way, and I'm sure that's obvious from my tone, by her beamingly proud face.

My Ellie might not be the one to discover the cure for cancer, but she is a miracle to me, and she's my amazing, smart little daughter.