Life with Tui

Here's a picture of the valentine that Tui gave to his school friends this year. It's been five years and three months since Tui came to our family. I have long felt the need to write the "Tui story" and tried to write something on his birthday but got overwhelmed. So here's the Reader's Digest condensed version of life with Tui.

Life in the Fast Lane
When Alai and I were first dating he took me to the local college track for a run-- an event I now call "the audition." It wasn't pretty. I wore pajama bottoms because, ahem, I didn't own work out clothes. Alai, whether he acknowledges it or not, was looking to breed the super athlete. He married me anyway because I have one really tall brother and I won the City of Porterville Fun Run in the 4th grade(true story, doubters).

So six years later along comes Tui. In the hospital room, Alai and his cousin looked him over and consider his future athletic potential. They admired Tui's exceptionally thick neck.

"I think this is your NFL player," he said. Music to Alai's ears.

Later that evening the on-call pediatrician made a different prediction."He has Down Syndrome, blah, blah, blah...could have major heart problems, blah, blah, blah...not very bright,thick neck, simian crease, low muscle tone blah, blah, blah, blah..."

After the low muscle tone comment the doctor drove the point home by flopping Tui's tiny body over his forearm and bouncing him up and down--think fish broker at Pike's Place Market--his pink newborn limbs flailing up, around, and over the sleeve of a black leather bomber jacket.

"I'm 99 percent sure he has Down Syndrome, but I'm ordering a blood test."

How had we missed it? We'd attributed the eyes to my family. According to family legend there was some unnamed Chinese ancestor whose drop of blood landed in the corner of my eyes and pulled them into almonds.(A story, that I've since learned was a complete myth.) But now I recalled other hints. The nervous look my OB's face when she examined him. Her reflexive "Fine," and the Stepford Wives plasti-smile when I asked if he was OK. The fact that three nurses had asked if my pediatrician was coming.
"No," I'd replied each time "he doesn't have hospital privileges here, and works in the next town over." His limp body resting on my chest. Hadn't I stopped to check his breathing, and then assumed that I had forgotten how weak little babies were? We were stunned. NFL dreams shattered.(Serious about the stunned, kidding about the NFL)

Long story short is that life goes on. Five years later we can't believe we ever mourned a loss. "How dumb we were," we think. He can do so many things--cartwheels, pick locks, make friends, pop popcorn in the microwave, escape from windows, fake cry like a soap star, sing songs, jump on a trampoline, hug us so tight we gasp for air, say a prayer, run down a snow-covered street in the dark at the speed of a City of Porterville Fun Run champion wearing only blue rubber pants and striped Halloween tights... (After I caught him he paddled his goose pimpled arms and explained--he was going "Weemeen"[translation "Swimming"] hence the blue rubber pants.) While I don't love running barefoot in the cold yelling "S-T-O-P!" as I trail Boy Wonder the Second by half a block, I can't deny that living life in fast lane is good--and a teeny bit exhausting. Good thing I passed that audition.