I was fortunate to spend 5 days of mother-daughter time at a cute little cottage in Michigan last week...just me, Jaime, and Baby J.! It was wonderful! I felt the baby kick for the first time, got to feel his little hiccups, and generally just relished our time together. While we were there, though, I noticed something that I can't stop thinking about. It was her hands. The first time I saw her hands, they were tiny little fists flailing about uncontrollably seconds after her birth. Later, they became the hands of a little gymnast--calloused, peeling, sometimes bleeding. Later still, when she was quite a bit older, her hands were those of a dancer...graceful and soft. But now...I watched her over and over as she rubbed her baby belly, soothing our little guy. Sometimes it seemed to be done consciously. Other times it seemed to be instinctual. Her hands are now the hands of a mother. It brought tears to my eyes.
October is Down syndrome awareness month , so like I do every single day, I am thinking about Wes. Specifically, I'm thinking about how amazingly supportive my face-to-face friends and my Facebook friends have been over Wes and Down syndrome in general. People always comment when I post pictures of Wes or when I talk about things that we've done with him. But one of the things that is said most frequently is either, "THEY are always so happy!" or "HE is always so happy." I'm not really offended by it, but it stirs up a little something in me that I think I need to put in words. And please, I get it! When someone says that about a person who has Down syndrome, I realize they are saying it with love and compassion...letting me know th at not only do they "see' me and "see" Wes, but that they acknowledge and support us. The intention is good and pure and positive. But let's talk just a minute about the truth...the truth abou...
I also noticed this belly rubbing :) . I think when it really hit me was when we were at Ryan's parents house at the baby shower and she was sitting in one of the comfy chairs on the deck chatting and occasionally rubbing her belly. She was beautiful and glowing. Even though I still think of her as a 9 year old sometimes it was that moment when she went from woman to mother in my eyes.
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