Friday, January 17, 2014

What I wish I knew then - a post for expectant parents receiving a Down Syndrome diagnosis

This one is for you. It’s for you, and you, and you, and you. And maybe, this one is a little bit for me.
I hope to share here what I would have wanted to hear on that day in December when we received Baker’s diagnosis of Down Syndrome.
Before you read another line, lean back from your computer, put down your phone. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Fill your lungs. Breathe in. Breathe life. Breathe encouragement. Breathe hope. Breathe faith. Breathe confidence. Just breathe. Now release. Let it all out. The fears. The doubts. The uncertainty. The tears. The hurt. The worry.
Feel my prayers for you, for your little one, for your husband or your wife. For your parents, and your in-laws. For your friends. For your child’s future teachers and neighbors, and therapists, and doctors. For the cashier at the grocery store, for your small group, for the person who will give you a smile to brighten a cloudy day, for the friend who will send a handwritten note at the just right time. For the lives you will touch with yours.
I am wrapping you in prayer.
Congratulations on your baby. What an incredible gift. There are no words I can convey that will share the immense love our Baker Boy has brought into our lives. In his short twenty months, he has given a lifetime of smiles, hugs and snuggles and kisses so great in number I will never be in want. With every breath, he breathes joy. He is, like his name suggests, a strong willed warrior – sometimes a little more strong willed and stubborn than I would like to admit. He is a fighter, a peace maker. He is a pleaser. He is independent. He is strong. He is gentle. He has a laugh that spreads more quickly than wildfire. The sparkle in his eyes could light the night sky. He is ours. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
I hope you have been steered here because this is a place where abilities are celebrated, where joy is found in the everyday, and where love abounds.
This is what I would have liked to read that afternoon in December.
One. You are a first a mommy.
          You are first a daddy.
Your baby is first a baby. Not a Down Syndrome baby. Your baby is a baby with Down Syndrome. You can read all the books and fill out all of the paperwork later. Today, cherish their kicks. Savor being wholly exhausted during pregnancy. Laugh about your cravings. Daydream about the future. Decorate their nursery. Sit in the rocker where you will read countless books together. When he or she arrives, memorize their first cries. Breathe in their scent. Kiss their cheeks. Study their face. Fall all over in love with your baby. Hold your son. Talk to him. Tell him about his furry big brother waiting not so patiently for him to come home. Sing to her. Whisper lullabies in her ear. Dance together. Cover her in prayers. When the doctors allow, take him home. Introduce him to the place where he will splash in the tub. Show her the garden where you will grow blueberries together and get dirt under those tiny pink painted fingernails. Tiptoe through the kitchen, the home of the famed Tupperware cabinet and chocolate chip pancakes. Christen the rocking chair by reading Love You Forever. Then, gently wipe your tears from his cheek. Break the rules and let her drift off to dreams on your chest.

She is yours. And you, hers.

He is yours. And you, his.
Two. It’s okay to grieve. But it's not okay to live in grief.
You can mourn the loss of the child you were expecting. But then, stop. Reconsider all of the hopes and dreams you have for your child. Most, if not all of them, are still attainable. Recognize that. Celebrate that. Your son can still be the point guard for his high school basketball team, and your daughter, crowned Miss Alabama; if that's what you want for them.
For some things, your child will have to work harder. He or she will experience failure. It’s okay. It will make both of you stronger for it. And, you will more intentionally celebrate milestones because you know how stinking hard you had to work to accomplish it. Persevere.
The only limitations are the ones you set.

Hold your head up, and grab your favorite sunglasses. That baby you're carrying has a future so bright, you'll certainly need shades!
Three. Tell somebody.

Brian and I chose to keep Baker’s diagnosis to ourselves. We silently prayed. We silently worried. We silently read and silently studied. We silently went to doctor’s appointments. While I don’t regret the way we handled anything, I wish we would have shared with close friends and family. I needed to know they would still love us. I needed to know our boys would be able to play together. I needed to know this wouldn't change anything. I needed their support, their prayers, their smiles, their encouragement.
Four. You are not alone.

When I bought my SUV in 2011, I left the dealership thinking I had the only black Nissan Murano with tan leather in all of Mississippi. Wrong. As I ran errands the next day, I counted twelve. TWELVE. Twelve exactly like mine.

When we received a Down Syndrome diagnosis, I felt like Brian and I were the only parents in the whole world to have a child with Down Syndrome. Wrong. As I learned more, and met more people, I realized we were not alone in this journey. We are part of a community. It is not small. Like any group of people, we share. We share celebrations, we share struggles, we share ideas for therapies, and discuss schools and the best tennis shoes for emergent walkers. And unfortunately, the kids even share germs. Just like a Bible Study group, or a cross fit class, or a Supper Club, connecting with others makes the road a little smoother and the drive a little brighter.

Five. In time, you won't use the words "Down Syndrome" everyday.

Right now, it's all you can think about.

I know. I've been there. In the place where all you can think about is the diagnosis.

If you've been following this blog, you may wonder why I have veered away from every post being about Down Syndrome. It is still a part of who we are, Baker will always have Down Syndrome. But, it does not define us, nor does it confine us.

He is Baker. He is mine. He is here. He is loved.

Down Syndrome is a thing, but Down Syndrome is not the thing.

There is more to share. There is always more to tell. Read other posts. Some will make you laugh, some may make you cry. Some will make you happy, some may make you sad.

I try to honestly share our journey here. Some things are sacred in our family, and I choose not to post them for the world to see.

It is my desire to share how the Lord is using our family for His glory. How He is faithful. How He gives strength when we are weak. And rest when we tire.

I would love to celebrate with you and pray alongside you. I welcome the opportunity to share more about our journey as parents of a child with Down Syndrome. Please email me (there is a link at the top of the screen) if you have a specific prayer request or if I can provide encouragement in your journey.

One last thing, get ready.
You are in for the greatest gift, the greatest joy, the greatest love one can experience this side of heaven.

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