It really started in 1971.

But you don't want to know about me, so I'll only go back to February 13th, 2012.

First baby!  It's a boy!  He's got T21!

Damn.  That's Down's Syndrome to you and me, but really who gives a rat's ass - he is our boy.  He is brilliant.  He is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, bundled up in a pooey nappy and what is lovingly called a 'babygro' which, on an alternate plane of existence, is sometimes called 'footie pajamas'.

He has a gummy grin, a piggy grunt and a knack for waking up at 3 am, still at ten weeks old.  He has my heart in his pocket and my finger in his baby grip.  He has Daddy's undivided attention and the love of everyone who's ever set eyes on him.

Here I will write about him, when he gives me the time.  Here we will travel together to the magical world that lives in our house called the Dirty Water Pool.  Don't ask what that means, I'll tell you later.  Just get a tetanus shot before you jump in.  Or pour a drink.  (It's a fun place after all.)

Since I've been writing the chronicles of what it's like to be his mum / mom / milkman, I've taken liberties to transfer them over here from Facebook.  That too will give me a pretty substantial post list out of the blocks.  Because, when you stop and look at it, we all want to be overachievers - even young firstborn sons with T21.

Let that T stand for Terminator.  Beware all the doubters, cos this kid is gonna FLY.

And with that...

I'll be back.