The Bad News

I was told by my doctor that because of my age (who knew 35 was ancient?) my child had an increased risk of having Down Syndrome. I decided the amnio was the only route as I would have stressed about it for the entire 40 weeks.The process was fairly painless and I learned that the baby swimming around was a boy. "Wow" was the first thing the doctor said as he looked at my son, Hudson. He also mentioned the neck muscles were somewhat larger, but this is also fairly common in non-Down Syndrome boys.

I called in for the results from school on my 3rd period conference to hear the bad news. I WANTED to find out at school because the support network of friends there was great. I also knew that if the news was, indeed bad, I would have to "get it together" for 4th period.

I remember feeling completely stunned when I heard the news. I was calm. I asked, "what now?" I was told that there was three options. 1: I could get an abortion up to 24 weeks. I was 19 weeks and feeling my son kicking around inside me. "Ewwww. Next option." 2: Adoption. There were agencies out there that dealt with families who only wanted special needs children. "Good to know. I do not think that is an option, but I need this to sink in." 3. You keep the baby. "Keep talking."

After hanging up the phone I ran over to my friends office in the school. I burst in to tears and she hugged me. She did not tell me it would be all right. She did not tell me I would feel better soon. She also did not tell me that my son's life was over before it started. She simply was there.

Fourth period started. I had myself composed and told the kids my allergies were acting up. I survived the day.

I drove straight to the geneticists' office after school to pick up a huge package on D.S. I read lots of information on extra chromosomes, but that was not what I needed. There was also a chapter photocopied out of a book with testimony from D.S. parents. Highlighted at the bottom of the page was a support group that met once a month in my area. They were set to meet THAT NIGHT! I called and asked if I could attend.

I went home and broke the news to my boyfriend.

Quick summary: I loved him. Still do. We were together for 5 years before I became pregnant. We planned to be married in a year.

We were laying down on the bed and he asked how my day was. "Our son has Down Syndrome." We laid there for another ten minutes, not speaking. I do not remember too much else. Fast forward 30 minutes: I was out doing some chores. He left the house and texted me, "Is it too late for an abortion." I replied, "We can talk about the other issues, but never ask me to kill my son again."

I prayed our relationship was strong enough to handle this, but feared it would not.

He does not deal well with stress like this. He keeps it inside. I talk and talk and talk.

I went to the support group meeting and met some amazing people, including one five year old boy with DS. I do not think I have ever been more terrified of a person in my life. He was cute, polite, huwell-behaved, and I feared him like the plague. He was a symbol of what my son would be, of what he would never be.

The support meeting was one of the best spent 2 hours of my life. I did not care about extra chromosomes. I need to see parents who were already in the trenches, parents who were living this day to day, and could tell me I would find happiness. It was rather amusing to answer their question about when I found out the news. "Oh, about 6 hours ago."

I went home and slept in bed alone. My boyfriend did not return that night. But I took a leap of faith watching those families, those happy families, and knew I would be just fine. I slept like a baby.

Pregnancy Fears

I took my daughter to see New Orleans in April. We both wanted to see the city and I also knew our lives (13 years of it being just the two of us) were about to change forever. We had a wonderful time in those short three days, dining at 7am and returning to our hotel in the French Quarter late in the evening.

My mom, sister, and her 9 month old son were also with us. Every time one of them would rub my tummy I would jump back like an electric shock passed into me. My sister asked what was wrong. I said, "Nothing. I just need to wait until the doctor tells me everything is O.K. and then I will get excited."

When I was a child, I had a secret fear that I would grow up and have a baby that would need to be in the "special class." I would never make fun of those kids; I knew it was wrong, but more importantly, I feared God would "teach me a lesson" by giving me one to care for. Mind you, I was also afraid of making faces at my younger sister, for fear my face would freeze in that position.

So, here I am with a daughter who is more mature than I am, who is in honor classes in school, who has a wicked sense of humor. She was so easy to raise, that when people asked me how I did it, I often replied, "Just add water." My childhood fears were not realized: my daughter was a close to perfect as one could expect AND my face did not freeze in some horrid expression. (Note: I now have laugh lines starting by my eyes.)

Now I was pregnant again, and the first fear was back.

New to the Game of Blogging

I am a virgin blogger. So... if you are reading this, know that I am horrible at spelling and I never dreamed I would one day be expressing my warped thought process for anyone to read. Other than that, thank you for sharing this special moment with me. Ironic that my first post is about getting pregnant.

In reality, I am writing for myself. BUT, if someone can gain something from my ramblings, all the better. So, where do I start?

Last year, as I watched President Obama dance with his wife on January 20th, I was in shock. "We now have a half-black president, and I am pregnant with a half-black baby." That thought repeated itself in my mind, sitting on the couch, holding a pregnancy test, watching T.V.

I already had a teenage daughter. I was looking forward to parental retirement in 4.5 years when she was planning to leave home ("Mom, you can't really expect me to stay home?????") to attend university. What business did I have having another child?

What I did not know at the time, was the lil' angel growing inside of me had Down Syndrome. So, this blog is to help me remember my journey thus far, and chronicle it for the future. Maybe it will help me sort out my thoughts, maybe not. Maybe it will help some other lost parent, sibling, or friend of someone who has a D.S. child. Maybe not. Who knows? Am I boring anyone yet?