Different.

For the most part, I'm cool with Down syndrome. In fact, I truly forget that my daughter has three copies of the 21st chromosome. Because in our day to day life, Down syndrome is just not that big of a deal.

Sure, we go to therapies once a week. And sure, when Miss B gets sick my mind instantly jumps a lot further down the worst-case-scenario road than it would when T-Man or Fearless get the sniffles. But we are used to all that; Miss Banana is just Miss Banana and life goes on.

So when a peer points out her delays and is upset about them, I am blindsided.

Full on hit-upside-the-head-with-a-brick-outta-nowhere blindsided.

What?!?  Miss B can't do everything you do right now?!?
Oh.

You're right.

I forgot.

I forget that typically developing kids Miss B's age are head-and-shoulders taller than her.  I forget that they are speaking in full sentences.  I forget that they are potty trained and can tell you what they want to be when they grow up and exactly where it hurts when they fall down. I forget that they can dress themselves, drink from an open cup, and open their bedroom door in the morning.  I forget that they can run and jump.

I forget that they can see the differences between Miss B and themselves.

I forget that the differences matter to anyone.

Because when I look at her face, I don't see anything different. I see my lovable little lady, who is eager to please, eager to learn, knows how to work the crowd, and loves to be the center of attention. I see a little girl that works hard to master new skills. I see a little girl that knows how to pout to get what she wants from Daddy.

I see hope.
I see trust.
I see kindness.

I see what I see in all of my children: The Future.

Nothing different here.