What Have We Gotten Ourselves Into?

The Beloved and I were sitting on the couch relaxing when it seemed to him to be a good time for some discussion. Not so much for me, but I have to take it when I can. He's still of the view that I decided to "do this" without any say so from him, so he just has to deal with it. "I know you and the kids are all excited about this so I just have to go along with it," he said calmly. I said "Yes, the kids are excited, but me - not so much." It had already been a long full day of beating myself up about this Ds diagnosis, and I just wasn't feeling up to the task of another baby with challenges. I'd spent the entire day playing the "What If" game where you question everything you ever did, said, thought, or thought of doing right up until the diagnosis.

But since he was willing to listen, and I had his attention by saying that I wasn't all that excited, I decided to make it count. I told him I was terrified of this baby. I said that since our other two already had special needs, it seemed monumental to me to have another one with special needs. I said I didn't feel up to it. That even if the other two were normal (starting to hate that word) I just didn't think I could rise to the challenge. I admitted that I am already too tired to take on the whole medical arena as it is, and there is a trend to brush aside babies with Down syndrome because they are viewed as worth less effort than typical babies. I said I was afraid that Our Baby would be brushed aside when he needed something. And would I even know what he needed?

And I admitted that I had come to detest seeing babies out in public. Normal babies. Because Ours would not be. And it hurt. And there was nothing I could do about it. And for all of my pleas to God, he'd decided Our baby was good as is. He said, "Well, the decision has already been made. You'll just have to do what you have to to make sure he has everything he needs." By now I was sobbing into my hands in a pool of snot. True to his normal self, he came over and folded me up in his strong arms and held me against his broad chest. "I'm getting snot all over you" I sniffled. He said he didn't care and went on to say all manner of kind and comforting things. He would not have comforted me just because decorum required it, and he has never been one to say things he doesn't mean. "I told you before that you are the strong one," he says into my hair. He has said that to me before, right after my stroke just 9 months ago, but it's simply not true!

I am NOT the strong one. He's always been the stronger one, the sensible one, the one I go to when I don't know what to do, the one who always has the right answer, and if not the answer, at least a good plan. So, after much rocking and swaying and comforting, all seemed well. Or at least better.