When life suddenly slows down just a little
The beginning of the week was intense. Full of appointments, emotions, planning, and constant movement. Now, for a couple of days, things have been a little calmer.
And strangely, when things slow down, it becomes harder to know where to begin.
There is so much to process.
Is he really a “stay-at-home” child?
People often ask if my two-year-old son is a stay-at-home child.
Technically, yes.
But in reality not really.
In motherhood with a child with Down syndrome, “being at home” doesn’t mean a quiet or simple life. Our monthly schedule includes swimming and physiotherapy twice a month, plus speech therapy, special education sessions, and creative therapy.
On top of that, there are doctor visits, counseling appointments, meetings with kindergarten staff, and sometimes social workers.
This month alone included a hearing test and a full hospital visit with a neurologist, nurse, speech therapist, psychologist, and physiotherapist.
It is a schedule that requires constant attention just to keep up with.
The invisible mental load
My son’s physiotherapist recently said something that stayed with me.
Keeping track of all of this – the appointments, the paperwork, the plans – is a job in itself.
And it is.
No one reminds you when to renew a rehabilitation plan. No one calls to say it’s time to apply for disability support again.
You have to remember everything.
The calendar is full. Every detail matters.
Preparing for a planned C-section
Now, everything is organized up until June. My focus has shifted to preparing for what comes next.
Before my planned C-section, I want everything ready.
Clean clothes. A full fridge. A tidy home. Children bathed, cared for, prepared.
Because while I will be in the hospital, my partner will be at home alone with our four- and two-year-old.
He will take on everything – work, kindergarten routines, meals, therapies.
I know he can do it. The children adore him. When he comes home, they run or crawl straight into his arms.
But still, it is a big shift.
Hospital will be the easier part
Strangely, I believe that even recovering from surgery might feel easier than being at home.
In the hospital, there is support. Medical staff help with both me and the baby.
My only job is to heal and breastfeed.
Experience tells me I may be there for a while – five days with my daughter, twelve with my son.
We’ll see what this time brings.
Night thoughts that won’t let you sleep
Most nights, I sleep well.
But last night was different.
Thoughts kept coming – one after another.
I found myself thinking about the future. About my son. About what happens when the baby arrives.
The questions that don’t have answers yet
My son needs ongoing therapies – especially swimming and physiotherapy to support his muscles and hypermobile joints.
But those services are far away. At least an hour each way.
Right now, we manage.
In May and June, my partner will take him. In summer, we will rest.
But what about autumn?
What happens when I have a newborn who needs me constantly?
Trying to imagine the impossible
If the baby is breastfeeding all the time – as I hope he will be – how do I take my two-year-old to the pool?
Where do I put the baby?
I can’t leave a small baby in a car seat to watch. And I can’t safely manage both children in the water at once.
These are not theoretical questions.
They are real, practical challenges.
Searching for support in a place where there is little
We will need help. A support person.
But where do you find that in a rural area?
And even if we find someone – will they be willing to attend therapies with my son?
Another option would be finding a caregiver for the baby.
But that is not possible until breastfeeding is established—and I will not force weaning. I didn’t with my other children, and I won’t now.
When logistics become overwhelming
Even transport is a challenge.
We are fortunate to have access to municipal transport for therapies. But if we find a helper, they need a way to reach us and to return home.
Distances here are long. Nothing is simple.
There is worry about the future. A lot of it.
Choosing what to focus on right now
For now, I am choosing to focus on what is in front of me.
My children.
Preparing for the C-section.
Recovery.
The baby.
Breastfeeding.
Breastfeeding is deeply important to me, second only to love and care.
With my daughter, it came naturally, even though I was inexperienced.
With my son, it took a month of pumping, syringes, and persistence before things worked.
Also this time I will not give up.
Small, beautiful moments in between
This morning started gently.
A mother from my daughter’s kindergarten group had clothes for my son. We walked there together.
I sorted through a full bag – clothes for my son, even a hat and socks for the baby.
The children played. They ran, swung, laughed. More kids joined.
There were small arguments but also quick forgiveness.
That is how children are.
A moment of rest
On the way home, my son fell asleep in the stroller.
My daughter sat inside and drew quietly.
For a moment, everything slowed down.
Later, my son went to visit his grandparents. My daughter is outside playing with a neighbor.
Soon, my partner will come home.
I will cook, organize clothes, and maybe, just maybe, have ten minutes to myself.
A rare luxury.
Letting go of expectations
Yesterday was my last choir rehearsal where I helped guide others.
I said my thank yous.
I am relieved.
I love singing but preparing takes time I simply don’t have right now.
Maybe I will go back occasionally before the baby arrives.
But for now, I am choosing rest.
Life keeps moving forward
Tomorrow, maybe a family spa trip.
Sunday, guests coming to our new home. Baking a cake. A maternity photoshoot.
Next week, more appointments. More paperwork.
Life doesn’t pause.
It just keeps moving.
And somehow, so do we
This is motherhood with a child with Down syndrome.
It is planning, worrying, organizing, loving – often all at once.
It is chaos and meaning intertwined.
It is exhaustion and gratitude living side by side.
And even on the quiet days, there is so much happening beneath the surface.
You are not alone.
If this story resonated with you and you’d like to go deeper, you can explore my e-book Our Journey – A Different Path. It offers honest reflections and lived experience beyond this post.
If you’re looking for practical support, I’ve created Routine Templates to help parents and children navigate daily life with more clarity, structure, and understanding.
You can also read my previous posts or follow along on Instagram @parentguidancehub, where I share everyday reflections on parenting, family life, and finding balance.
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