Compensation?

Sometimes I wonder if Marty is my compensation, from God, for everything we go through with Ellie.

I realized today that Marty hadn’t gotten "equal billing" with his big sister when it came to the things I write about.  I also realized that I have a tendency to feel guilty about being proud of him, or bragging on him, as much as I do my firstborn, as if acknowledging his accomplishments and special individual uniqueness would somehow lessen my beloved daughter, or would emphasize her differences and, frankly, disabilities.

I love both my children.  I love them with every fiber of my being.  I love them each with a whole heart - it’s a good thing Mommies can have as many hearts as they have children.  I love each of them for the special individual that they are.  I love them just as they are, for their differences and their similarities.  I love Ellie just as she is.  I love Marty just as he is.

I’m going to be honest now, and say those things no parent is ever supposed to say.

The Truth, the Truth with the capital "T", is that Marty is the child I always dreamed of having.  No one dreams of having a child with a disability.  No one dreams that things will go horribly wrong, leaving your beloved child injured, dare I say "crippled," for life.  No.  We dream of golden summers, tickle fights, flying kites, amusement parks, throwing balls, climbing playground equipment, long talks, telling stories, dating, dances, graduations, marriages, grandchildren...

Those dreams were crushed, for me, when Ellie was only 18 months old.  Everything unraveled.  Then, two years later, when Marty was born Neurotypical, I got them back.

I always dreamed of having an "all-boy" boy.  Marty is everything I ever wanted, and so very much more.  He’s brilliant.  He’s physically precocious.  He’s the most beautiful boy ever born.  He has a little dimple in his right cheek that shows when he laughs with joy or grins with mischief.  He’s sweet.  He’s compassionate.  He loves his sister and worships the ground she walks on.  He has two baby dolls of his own, and he’s a wonderful little daddy.  He holds his dolls and rocks them, sings to them, feeds them.  It’s so moving to watch him that it brings tears to my eyes.  He’s gentle with his sister, his babies, our pets, other children... He’s so precious.  I love him so much that it feels as if my heart is swelling inside my ribs, sometimes I think it will swell so much that my chest will burst.

And yes, I love Ellie just as much, in the same way, with the same sensations.  But they are such different children.  And yet, so much alike...

But sometimes I feel guilty for loving Marty so much, as if it was disloyal to Ellie.  I don’t know if it feels disloyal because she’s the firstborn or because of her challenges.  I guess it seems that I ought to love her more than him because she was here first, and/or because she has the harder row to hoe.  But I don’t.  I don’t love either one more than the other, and I’m not just saying that to be "PC" or sound like "Super Mommy."  If I wanted to be either of those things I wouldn’t have started writing this at all.
Sometimes, though, I watch my children, and I do wonder...

Is Marty my reward, from God, for loving Ellie just as she is?  He certainly seems like a reward to me...

Then again, they both do.