Today I am 28 weeks along. If The Baby Dear is born now he will have a good chance of survival. I spend a lot of time researching still and reading blogs of other families with a baby who has Down syndrome. It's encouraging to see their pictures and read their stories. I'm getting a better idea of what to expect when Baby Dear comes home. The Beloved and I were talking about it this evening. He expressed more of his concerns. Will he get picked on? Will it be worse or more hurtful than for the average child who gets picked on? Will he even know he's being ridiculed? Will he be able to have a job a little more meaningful than the Wal-Mart greeter or a bag boy? I have to admit that I've wondered this very thing myself. Then he voiced the concern that nearly broke my heart. "Will he ever know the love of a woman?" I have read several accounts of people with Down syndrome getting married so I pulled up a few from the net so he could read them. Of one of the couples, the young man is actually an accomplished concert pianist, but he also plays several other instruments quite well. He and his wife live independently. After The Beloved read the info on the net he sat back and said, "We'll just have to work hard to make sure he gets all the therapies you've been telling me about and help him to live as normally as possible."
I'm still seeing the doctor every week and having NSTs every Tuesday and Friday. And I've had to do another 24 hour pee test. It's cumbersome to haul those two giant bottles into the lab, but the worst part is having to remember to pee in the cup in the middle of the night, and then have to transfer it to the container instead of just
And I do mean lumbering. I have had to resort to a step stool on my side of the bed. Okay, so the bed is a full 38" off the ground, but before I got pregnant and gained 50 gallons of fluid, I could take a running jump from the doorway and still land in safety. And yes, I have actually done that running jump thing. On occasion. Now I can't climb into my own bed without the step stool and if I attempt getting in on The Beloved's side of the bed, that quite gracefully involves his hands on either side of my broad expanse of butt to hoist me up. Really makes a gal feel pretty! Especially when The Beloved takes a few steps back after I land just in case that tremor and rumbling sound is a precursor to the bed falling down. Yeah, I feel pretty!