Look, I'm his mother, so of course I think these things about him. The fact that they're true is beside the point. The point is that I never started giving him these nick names in order to excuse his disability or explain him away. My son has an extra chromosome. Period. He is not an angel sent from above to teach anyone anything. He is not a martyr, he is not any deity's precious gift. I was not chosen to be his mother because of any special attributes I may or may not have. He is not a punishment, curse or blessing any more than any other child.
Somewhere along the line, probably during my mitosis, there was a mis-copy. Not a mistake. A mis-copy. What this means is that when I was conceived and all my cells were splitting and making up all the zillions of parts of what would become me, at least one of the cells that became one of my eggs got an extra chromosome attached to it. That egg became half of Andy. That's it. And twenty-one years later, this is what he looks like.