Today is Archie’s birthday. He’s six years old and each time I think about how Archie and I have shared our lives for six whole years I’m amazed that, at exactly the same time, I can be surprised I’ve known this boy of mine for all this time because, I swear, he just got here, and I’m also stunned I’ve only know Archie for six short years because most days it feels as if he and I have known each other as far back as I can remember. I know my sentiment isn’t unique, that other mothers and fathers have said the same thing themselves, and when I think about that it makes me wonder if creation is equal parts biology and spirituality after all.

Everyone wants to know what our family is doing to celebrate. I suspect they’re waiting to hear we’re having a party, but my answer is simpler than that. Today we’re celebrating exactly the way Archie asked us to.

Last week Archie told John and me that he wanted a cake with vanilla icing and cherries on top. He asked for ice cream, too, and said that he wanted Nana and Mic to watch the Backyardigans with him on television. So tonight my parents are coming for dinner and dessert, and to watch cartoons with their oldest grandson. There’s a part of me that feels as if this answer disappoints the people who are asking about our plans, but I also know my answer is exactly right.

When he woke up this morning Archie picked his way down the hall to my bedroom. It was still dark outside and I could hear Archie’s hand sliding along the wall, helping him to find his way through our lightless home. As soon as he pushed open the half-shut door to my bedroom I called out to Archie in a whisper, “Happy birthday.”

Archie swiped at his eyes with the back of his hands before be asked me, “Is it today?” But before I could answer Archie was running across the room toward my bed, his legs all stiff and straight with one foot landing on the carpet before he lifted the other each time he stepped forward. I helped him up when he got to my side of the bed, and pulled back the covers for him. That’s when Archie climbed over me and pressed against my back, tucking his nose into my shoulder. He wrapped the fingers of one hand in my hair and threw his other arm over my arm. I laid awake until my alarm sounded the start of our day, listening as Archie click-click-clicked his tongue against the back of his throat, quickly at first and then less and less as my firstborn slowly, slowly fell asleep again.

Later at school we skipped the drop-off line and instead Kit, Jack and I walked inside with Archie, delivering him to the school’s morning room and dropping off the cake and ice cream I’d brought in Archie’s classroom. As soon as we entered the school Archie hopped and skipped and flapped his arms like he does when he’s really excited about something before he called out to the teachers in the hallway, “My birthday’s here!” Those teachers cheered, I cheered, and Kit and Jack cheered, too, all while Archie smiled so wide that it looked as if the corners of his mouth may touch his ears.

Just this last weekend John sat on a chair in our family room with Archie perched on his lap. “You know, I don’t worry about it like I used to,” John said to me, his hand patting Archie’s back as he spoke. Even though we hadn’t been talking about Down syndrome before John’s declaration, I knew it’s what he meant.

“I don’t either,” I replied and meant every word of what I was saying.

It’s true that some days some things still bother me. And it’s also true that sometimes it’s easier to blame an extra chromosome for things that happen which I don’t like so I do. But the truth of it is this: Six years after his birth Archie both falls short of my expectations and exceeds them. To my surprise I’ve discovered that Archie is his own person, that he isn’t an extension of me. I’m getting to know him a little better every day, this little boy of mine, and the relationship we’re building is still ours no matter Archie’s genetic composition. We are tied together by biology, but here and now it’s the spirituality of it all that feels as if it counts the most.