The last of my guest voices is an incredible photographer, Kelly Searle, who I’m still hoping will decide to make an impromptu trip to Toronto one day when it just happens to be gorgeous outside so that I can use her incredible talent to capture some new photos of Lily, but I digress. Kelly is also the mamma to Dolly, whose smile is contagious even through photos!
What I love most about Kelly’s post is the sheer optimism that rings from every word. Each sentence seems to spark a light underneath your toes and you can’t help but get swept up in the joy. Someone once told me that while there are a lot of blogs and books about having a baby with Down Syndrome, these slowly fade away as children get older. Perhaps it’s because we loose the time to write freely, we have more children and more things to do. But I also think that it’s because those feelings that were once so new and raw have begun to fade into something new – the new chapter that is filled with just life – typical, everyday life that sometimes doesn’t feel exciting enough to write about. That’s the amazing part of this journey though, that common thread is always there: acceptance of a life that is just as incredible as any vision we may ever have had.
When I sat down to contribute a story to this project, I started out by writing our little girl’s birth story. Paragraph after paragraph typed out on this blank white Word document. Tears were shed, coffee was brewed, and cookies were eaten – all while typing out this birth story.
…and then I deleted it.
It’s not our story anymore. We are not defined anymore by this story of tears, and feelings of despair, the hospital chapel, and nurses rushing around. That’s not the chapter we are on anymore.
We are on this beautiful chapter now that includes snotty kisses, running wobbly circles around the house, and dancing to Taylor Swift until your legs feel like they are going to give out on you. I’m the mom to a 2 year-old that happens to have Down syndrome. She is so much more than those two words though! They just accompany her soul and her spirit. Her name is Dolly. She loves mashed potatoes, despises juice, loves music, will scream about getting her hair washed, loves swimming, and doesn’t really dig the whole “hugging strangers” thing. She would actually scream at you if you tried to hug her and you are not in her immediate “circle”. She’s picky like that. She’s awesome like that. She’s feisty like that.
What can I contribute to Down syndrome awareness with this little story? I will tell you.Getting a diagnosis is freaking hard. Like knock you on the floor, a punch in the gut, feeling like your world is over hard. Anyone to say anything different, I commend you but that was not our reality. I wanted to curl up in a ball and scream to god to please change it.
I cried and I cried, and I cried. My husband cried. The pain was unbearable at times. You know what though – something clicked inside of me and I suddenly looked at my Dolly in a different way. She was alive. She was breathing. She was small, and pink, and fragile. She needed me. So I picked myself up and I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I got strong. Really freaking strong. I stopped looking at her as a burden and started looking at her as my “baby”. Just my baby and nothing else.
If you are reading this because you just got a diagnosis, listen to my words. Everything will be okay. You will see light when there is just dark. You will have laughter and joy when all you hear are tears right now. Pick yourself up. Shake yourself off. Open your eyes because your world is about to get brighter and full of so many blessings you will feel like you could burst sometimes. Small accomplishments will feel like tackling huge mountains and give you so much pride. The day your baby takes their first steps, you may as well tell your neighbors to wear earplugs. There will be screaming and clapping. Tears will flow! Not sad tears this time but HAPPY TEARS!!!! Videos will be made on your phone, Facebook posts will be posted, and that birth story – it will seem like a distant memory.
You’re on the next chapter now.
The one that includes the snotty kisses, running wobbly circles around the house, and dancing until your legs feel like they are going to give out on you.
Join me in that chapter, please. I’ll have a cup of coffee and some half-eaten cookies waiting for you.
