{The moccasins Lily is wearing in this post were specially designed and named after her by HelloMoccs. You can purchase The Lily Mocc at hellomoccs.bigcartel.com)
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Sometimes life presents us instances where we can view our past self through the filter of our present circumstances, and when we realize the person we've become... the change is so drastic, we are almost unrecognizable.
Have you ever been there ?
Have you ever relived a moment - had a deja vu experience - only to realize that this time you got it right ? Where once you might have viewed a situation as unfortunate or unredeemable, this time you saw through the eyes of experience ?
I had a moment like that this week... a deja vu, been-there-done-that moment... only this time I saw the truth for what it was.
Ten years ago, I was part of an email group for large families. Members of this group exchanged emails filled with suggestions on everything from camping with lots of small children, to shopping and sticking to a budget when feeding a crowd, to ideas and opinions on birth control. I enjoyed the email discussions and gleaned many ideas over the course of several years of reading. I felt like I got to know some of these families pretty well - this was in the days before blogging and Instagram existed, so most of the emails were heavy on words and light on photos.
There was one photo however, included in the batch of emails grouped together one particular week, that is forever etched in my mind.
A family in the group had just welcomed another baby into the world... he was their eighth child. I was pregnant with Noah (my eighth) at the time, so I felt a sort of kinship with this family. They had several children who shared our children's names, and the ages of all our little ones coincided as well.
During this time, a marker for Down syndrome had shown up on Noah's ultrasound; I waited eight long weeks for a follow up ultrasound to see if it remained. I had opted out of an amnio, and those seemingly eternal weeks of waiting brought me to a place of prayer and surrender that I had never gone through during previous pregnancies. When our follow up scan revealed a clean bill of health (no markers as far as the doctor could see) I admittedly breathed a huge sigh of relief. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling as if a hundred pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. I called Sam crying, and told him our baby looked "perfectly normal."
So a few weeks later, when I opened the email that contained a photo of a brand new baby in our group of large families ... my heart sank. Although nothing was said in their birth announcement, it was obvious from the baby's tiny features that he had Down syndrome. His tiny closed eyes were tilted upwards at the corners, his little rosebud were lips pulled down slightly at the edges, and his sweet little button nose was very clearly lacking any prominent bridge at the top. He lay softly in his mommy's arms, and while he slept, all of his siblings leaned in, gazing down adoringly at his angelic face. The smile on his parents' faces looked genuine, and the words printed beneath the photo spoke of pride and joy at the birth of their son.
But in my mind, I thought they had to be hurting.
Of course they loved their son, and I had no doubt that they would spend the rest of their lives caring for him with willing and thankful hearts - they seemed to be such a kind family, I had no reason to think otherwise.
But after receiving the news that my own baby was "perfectly normal", I couldn't help but feel sad that this family had somehow been dealt a blow. It appeared that the diagnosis of Down syndrome had come as a surprise - either that, or they had never thought it an important enough detail to include in any of their previous emails. Either way, I felt such a heaviness and even a little bit of guilt for several days, knowing that very well could have been me.
Because underneath my sadness and angst for this family, was perhaps secret relief - I knew I would love and treasure a baby with Down syndrome, but in all honesty I prayed that this would never happen to me.
I truly did have genuine pity for this family, and I wondered at their reaction to the birth of their son. I knew they loved him - but in my naivety I believed they loved him in spite of his Down syndrome. He was their own - he shared the same white blond hair that his siblings all had, and it was clear that he resembled a few of his older brothers, despite the features that pointed to an added chromosome. But in my mind, this family was somewhat heroic- they were choosing to look past his differences and were somehow sacrificially loving their baby in spite of his diagnosis.
How wrong I was.
Fast forward to this morning, when I read a comment on one of my photos of Lily on Instagram.
A family in the group had just welcomed another baby into the world... he was their eighth child. I was pregnant with Noah (my eighth) at the time, so I felt a sort of kinship with this family. They had several children who shared our children's names, and the ages of all our little ones coincided as well.
During this time, a marker for Down syndrome had shown up on Noah's ultrasound; I waited eight long weeks for a follow up ultrasound to see if it remained. I had opted out of an amnio, and those seemingly eternal weeks of waiting brought me to a place of prayer and surrender that I had never gone through during previous pregnancies. When our follow up scan revealed a clean bill of health (no markers as far as the doctor could see) I admittedly breathed a huge sigh of relief. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling as if a hundred pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. I called Sam crying, and told him our baby looked "perfectly normal."
So a few weeks later, when I opened the email that contained a photo of a brand new baby in our group of large families ... my heart sank. Although nothing was said in their birth announcement, it was obvious from the baby's tiny features that he had Down syndrome. His tiny closed eyes were tilted upwards at the corners, his little rosebud were lips pulled down slightly at the edges, and his sweet little button nose was very clearly lacking any prominent bridge at the top. He lay softly in his mommy's arms, and while he slept, all of his siblings leaned in, gazing down adoringly at his angelic face. The smile on his parents' faces looked genuine, and the words printed beneath the photo spoke of pride and joy at the birth of their son.
But in my mind, I thought they had to be hurting.
Of course they loved their son, and I had no doubt that they would spend the rest of their lives caring for him with willing and thankful hearts - they seemed to be such a kind family, I had no reason to think otherwise.
But after receiving the news that my own baby was "perfectly normal", I couldn't help but feel sad that this family had somehow been dealt a blow. It appeared that the diagnosis of Down syndrome had come as a surprise - either that, or they had never thought it an important enough detail to include in any of their previous emails. Either way, I felt such a heaviness and even a little bit of guilt for several days, knowing that very well could have been me.
Because underneath my sadness and angst for this family, was perhaps secret relief - I knew I would love and treasure a baby with Down syndrome, but in all honesty I prayed that this would never happen to me.
I truly did have genuine pity for this family, and I wondered at their reaction to the birth of their son. I knew they loved him - but in my naivety I believed they loved him in spite of his Down syndrome. He was their own - he shared the same white blond hair that his siblings all had, and it was clear that he resembled a few of his older brothers, despite the features that pointed to an added chromosome. But in my mind, this family was somewhat heroic- they were choosing to look past his differences and were somehow sacrificially loving their baby in spite of his diagnosis.
How wrong I was.
Fast forward to this morning, when I read a comment on one of my photos of Lily on Instagram.
I had captioned my photo "Did you know princess can have Down syndrome too ? #truestory."
Among the many sweet comments on Lily's photo was this one :
"I cannot WAIT to meet my princess !!!! 3 weeks or less"
And this is where I had a do-over moment.
Because instead of feeling a moment of sadness for this first time mama... instead of wondering how she bravely put on a good face in spite of everything ... instead of thinking what a sweet and heroic thing that was for a parent expecting a baby with Down syndrome to say ...
Among the many sweet comments on Lily's photo was this one :
"I cannot WAIT to meet my princess !!!! 3 weeks or less"
And this is where I had a do-over moment.
Because instead of feeling a moment of sadness for this first time mama... instead of wondering how she bravely put on a good face in spite of everything ... instead of thinking what a sweet and heroic thing that was for a parent expecting a baby with Down syndrome to say ...
... I felt her joy.
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this mommy was beyond excited to welcome her little girl into the world - designer genes and all.
And even though she hasn't yet experienced what we have - joy unspeakable and full of glory - she has a taste of it. She loves her daughter fiercely , and it isn't an "in-spite-of" kind of love. She loves her baby with the same love that every mama feels- an unconditional, easy-as-breathing, proud and happy and over-the-moon love - and she can't wait to meet her.
I know this because of the eyes I've been given ... the beautiful, star-studded, almond-shaped eyes of my tenth baby. I see clearly now, because I view life through the perfect filter of truth.
I don't love Lily in-spite-of. I don't love Lily because it's the right thing to do. I don't have to conjure up emotions for my daughter, forcing down a feeling of regret or shame or what-might-have-been.
My love for Lily is genuine and deep and rich, and no different than my love for any of my ten other children.
It's so easy to love this girl.
If you know her, you know what I mean...
Today I'm thanking God for the gift of Lily.
I'm thanking Him for opening my eyes to see the truth of what that family knew so many years ago ... their baby was not a burden or a tragedy to be endured. He was a miracle and a blessing and a gift sent straight from Heaven. He arrived in a package that looked different than his siblings, but he was no less a miracle or cause for celebration than those other babies before him.
I know the love his family felt for him was real - because I'm experiencing it every day.
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this mommy was beyond excited to welcome her little girl into the world - designer genes and all.
And even though she hasn't yet experienced what we have - joy unspeakable and full of glory - she has a taste of it. She loves her daughter fiercely , and it isn't an "in-spite-of" kind of love. She loves her baby with the same love that every mama feels- an unconditional, easy-as-breathing, proud and happy and over-the-moon love - and she can't wait to meet her.
I know this because of the eyes I've been given ... the beautiful, star-studded, almond-shaped eyes of my tenth baby. I see clearly now, because I view life through the perfect filter of truth.
I don't love Lily in-spite-of. I don't love Lily because it's the right thing to do. I don't have to conjure up emotions for my daughter, forcing down a feeling of regret or shame or what-might-have-been.
My love for Lily is genuine and deep and rich, and no different than my love for any of my ten other children.
It's so easy to love this girl.
If you know her, you know what I mean...
Today I'm thanking God for the gift of Lily.
I'm thanking Him for opening my eyes to see the truth of what that family knew so many years ago ... their baby was not a burden or a tragedy to be endured. He was a miracle and a blessing and a gift sent straight from Heaven. He arrived in a package that looked different than his siblings, but he was no less a miracle or cause for celebration than those other babies before him.
I know the love his family felt for him was real - because I'm experiencing it every day.
