Occasionally, I forget that our son has Down syndrome. It’s simple to get caught up in his two-year-old tantrums, his cheeky grin, and his enthusiastic spirit. Liam is both headstrong and gentle. When his big sister has a dramatic meltdown, proclaiming that the world is ending, he is the first one to dash over to comfort her. He loves to climb into your lap, extending his tiny fingers to gently stroke your cheek, his sweet way of saying “I love you.”
Of course, he also has a knack for creating chaos; he opens drawers, pulls everything out, and throws things on the floor. When confronted, he ducks his head and peeks up with a somewhat guilty grin. Sometimes he helps tidy up, but more often than not, he wanders off to create more mischief. He adores music and can’t help but start dancing the moment he hears it. Whether it’s a round of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” or “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” he can’t resist joining in, even if he was upset just moments before. Liam can make music out of anything, even dancing to the fireworks during the Fourth of July celebration.
Sometimes I forget, because Liam is simply Liam. When I look at him, I don’t see Down syndrome; I see my son, Sarah’s brother, a sweet, determined, and remarkable little boy.
However, I occasionally remember, particularly when someone reminds me in a less-than-kind way. Like that cashier who gave me a pitying look and whispered, “I bet you wish you had known before he was born. They have a test for that now…” Shock, hurt, and anger surged through me. I considered giving her a piece of my mind, but instead opted for a different approach.
I flashed her an exaggerated smile. “Right? It’s SO much harder once they’re here. Trust me; I’ve tried…” Jackpot! Her jaw dropped in disbelief. I leaned over the counter and whispered back, “So you believe it’s acceptable to terminate a pregnancy but not to harm a child after birth? For me, there’s no distinction. Just so you know, we were fully aware of everything about him during my pregnancy. There’s no way I would ever let any harm come to either of my children, especially when society views them as disposable.”
Sometimes I forget. I had forgotten that not everyone sees Liam; they see a “Downs kid.” They perceive poor parents and a burdened sibling. They see a child who must be suffering or incapable. I sometimes forget until I catch a glimpse of pity in their eyes or overhear ignorant remarks whispered nearby.
I realize it’s not their fault; they simply don’t know. They don’t understand the weight of their words. They haven’t experienced the joy of hearing Liam’s laughter or felt the warmth of his smile. They haven’t witnessed the fierce protection his sister offers him, despite her claims of disliking “boy babies.” They haven’t cheered him on as he achieves new milestones, bursting with pride.
I sometimes forget that I was once in their shoes. Before Liam, my knowledge of Down syndrome came solely from nursing textbooks, which left me in tears, imagining a lifeless, incapable child. I didn’t know.
Sometimes we forget; to us, they’re just Liam, Emma, Max, or Ava—and that’s how it should be. If you’re seeking more information on home insemination, check out this post on intracervical insemination or learn about options from Make a Mom. For further resources on pregnancy, Cleveland Clinic is an excellent choice.
In summary, while it’s easy to overlook the challenges associated with Down syndrome, it’s essential to remember that our children are individuals first and foremost. They bring joy and love into our lives, and it is our responsibility to advocate for their worth and potential.