Triple Blessed to Be a Ds Mama

Ever wonder what it is like to raise three girls with Down syndrome? Enjoy a sneak peek at life with my girls.

Pro-Choice/Life/Adoption Plea

It is that time of the election cycle when abortion becomes a hot topic again. When does life begin, and who has (or does not have) the right to end it... and where is the line drawn between the right of the mother to not become a mother and the right of the developing baby to become a full-fledged infant?

I have said it before and I will reiterate it now, I am pro-choice. I wish that every pregnant woman could choose to continue forward, but I get it... I understand the many reasons why some can’t or won’t. And as long as that decision is made before 20 weeks, I am ok with other people deciding what is best for them and theirs.

I wish the pro-life folks, those that cannot reconcile the willing destruction of a fetus with their beliefs, would turn some of that compassion and urgency to help toward those already born and wasting away in orphanages and institutions. I wish the pro-choice people, those who know how destructive it would be to force unwilling women to become reluctant mothers, would turn some of that concern and desire for personal freedom toward the existing products of those who were born unwanted. In fact, I plead with everyone to consider adopting before voting. And if like so many people you feel unable to adopt, can you donate toward to the families who are forging ahead with their pro-choice/life adoption agenda?

Whether you are pro-life or pro-choice, you can make a huge difference in the life of an orphan. I know of a beautiful family who is adopting. They are taking a blind referral... which means that they do not even yet know the child they will save. They are moving ahead on faith and the belief that every child deserves life with a family to love them. The only thing standing in the way of this real flesh and blood child getting the chance to live a full life outside of the institution that awaits him or her is money. This family needs to raise $7000 in September to be able to complete the lifesaving process they have committed themselves to.

This morning while I was drinking my sweet latte, I got thinking that if every person I know who cared about either side of the abortion issue made the choice to give just the tiniest bit, even just the value of one cup of coffee, a waiting orphan could be saved. So as you get ready to vote with your heart this Fall, can you make a difference with your wallet today?

If so, please donate what you can to the Lakes family. Anything, any amount no matter how small will go a long way toward saving the life of a child who is waiting... waiting... waiting for them and waiting for you.

I remember when we were adopting... I remember worrying about funding... I remember that amazing feeling when a stranger gave a little gift toward our mission. Now because of the generosity of family, friends, and strangers, we have two beautiful little girls. Two girls whose lives look nothing like they did two years ago. Thank you for helping us pull it off, and thank you in advance for helping the Lakes family to do the same.

Candy Kisses

When was the last time you felt this way?

 

I See Evil People

It’s an epidemic. Everywhere I look on Facebook, I see evil people...

Just last week I found out that the Waltons (of Walmart) are evil. I did not know that they enslaved poor people everywhere, and are the reason poor people stay poor. I had no idea that they force people to work and shop at Walmart, thereby condemning them to a life of poverty. They make people wear cheap clothes (made in China) and they make people eat unhealthy foods (made in ?). Walmart stole more from us than the combined wealth (can you call it that when people are poor?) of the lowest 40% of our country. Those bastards.

 And then there are those evil fast food CEOs who are lining their pockets by blocking people's arteries. Thankfully New York’s Mayor Bloomberg is taking on those demons... if we are lucky he will protect NYC from 20 ounce sodas. But who will save us from Chick-fil-A? Those bigoted hatemongers, with values and beliefs that we do not agree with, use their profits (that they steal from us by force) against us. Thank God (um I mean thank nothing) that there are local politicians in Chicago, Boston, New York, and San Francisco who will block the expansion of evil businesses into their cities... because you know, I heard that if you buy a chicken sandwich from a hatemonger that makes you one too (unless of course you balance it out by picking up some Starbuck’s afterward).

Damn, it seems like no shopping trip is safe anymore. Drop a dime in the wrong place and I just might be keeping my friends from getting married or I may be helping to hold down the poor. This kind of stress might drive a girl to drink (hopefully not imported Vodka) or even to...

Bring on the smokes! Go Big Tobacco! 20oz sodas, clothes made in China, and greasy chicken sandwiches ain’t got nothin’ on you. Thankfully your CEOs know enough to shut up and pay up. Thankfully our politicians know enough to line their coffers (our coffins?) with people’s addictions... to the tune of more than $24.3 billion in gross cigarette excise tax revenues in FY2009 alone. Thankfully we all benefit from the death-colored revenues generated by Big Tobacco.

So skip the chips at Walmart, skip Chick-fil-A, skip Mac D’s and give your kid a smoke instead. You will be doing us all a solid.

Cain

The Gecko’s middle name is Cain. Yup Cain, the one who killed his brother. I thought I made up for it by selecting a first name that was taken from the kindest prophet in the Old Testament... but I guess not. My Gecko is a fighter. This child has not been able to turn down a tussle since starting Pre-Kindergarten in 2007, and this weary mama is getting tired of hearing what a naughty boy she has.

Last week he bit a kid. Today he bit a kid. Now he has been kicked out of Swamp Camp. Granted he didn’t start the fights, and yes he was being bullied but sheesh, why can’t he ever walk away? When it comes to the fight or flight reaction in the face of threats, he seems to only have the fight part.

I suppose this serves him well in soccer. He is an aggressive player and has no fear.

  

But for everyday situations when bigger boys are threatening him or pushing him around, he has no ability to control himself. I explained to him that there are different ways we handle things depending on the situation... if a grown up is nearby, he should get help but if there isn't, he should defend himself anyway he can. I tell him that name calling and threats are just goading and not to fall for it. I remind him that he who hits back gets caught.

All my efforts, punishments, and positive reinforcers have done nothing to help him. So my next idea is to train him to fight. Maybe having knowledge and confidence concerning real fighting will help him to manage these playground scuffles. Or maybe not... maybe he will just knock those boys out prior to getting scared and desperate enough to bite them... and then what will that camp lady say?

Mama

She was sitting in her highchair snacking on pretzels when I left the kitchen and slipped around the corner into my office. I was not yet settled in front of the computer when I heard it. The word burst out of her as if it were chasing me, “Mu... MA!” And because I had never heard it before from her, my mind dismissed it as just a screech from my little girl who was worried that the pretzel supply had walked out.

It came again, louder, desperate, and demanding, “Mu....MAH!” As it dawned on me that Kimani was calling for me, calling me mama, I started to shake. A little thrill lifted the hairs on my skin. I jumped out of my seat and ran to her. “Did you call me? Did you say mama?” I asked her, my face down close to hers. She peeked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes me as if nothing spectacular had just happened and signed/said pretzel.



The stream of new words started the last week in June with “cupcake” and continued on with cake, yogurt, pop, pasta, drink, mint, berry, out, and my favorite “mama”. The words are not clear as a bell, in fact some of them are more like word approximations but I can understand her. They don’t come easy. Each time she wants to say a word she stiffens a little and looks off to the side while she subtly moves her mouth into what seems like a practice position... Then she brings her hand to her face and places her fingers into the sound prompt spots around her mouth, nose, or under her chin. She wriggles her feet and stalls for a few more agonizing seconds, eyes flitting here and there. Finally it comes, flung from her whole body, the word... often followed by a smile.

And she ought to smile about it. Those half-pint words rock my world.

The Wrong Idea

With every pregnancy comes a preconceived idea of the child that will be. We may not even realize how powerful and ingrained that idea is, unless it is challenged. The idea is firmly grounded in the perfected combination of the mother and father. A wanted pregnancy is a pregnancy of hope.



A prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome changes all that. Though nothing inside me was different than the day before I heard the news, everything in my mind was altered. The possibility of perfection was shattered, and I was left contemplating that even the best outcome would be subpar to a “normal” child. I hesitantly opened the yellow folder filled with xeroxed faded sheets describing what the future might look like.



Anal atresia, a flat face, heart defects, small low set ears... the flush of shame rushed through me. How could I have created this anomaly? I read a little more... and was clobbered with the worst of it, intellectual disability. My child would not be smart like me. In fact, according to the fact sheet, my baby would likely be a standard deviation or so down from the lowest point of normal human cognition.



I stuffed the papers back into the folder and closed it up. Then I put it high up on a shelf far away from me. I would not look at it again. I could not look at it again. “Que sera, sera,” I said to myself through my tears. And for the rest of my pregnancy I lived in fear of this ugly imperfect child growing inside of me.



What if I had been delivered this news early in my pregnancy, long before I could feel the baby fluttering, and long before the world could see that I was carrying? What if I had been told that my other children and my marriage would suffer because of this coming child? What if the doctor I trusted with my most womanly self had suggested that I could end this and do it over again with the odds stacked in my favor? What if the wrong idea had convinced me to take my daughter’s life?



I wish that every single woman facing this difficult decision could have a glimpse of her future. Not just of her child but of who she will become because of that child. It is a terrible thing to have knowledge without experience, fear without hope, vision without clarity. It is a terrible thing to have to make a life altering decision based on an idea, maybe even the wrong idea.