His Roots

When I was pregnant and only I could feel the flutters of my unborn child, I had a dream. In this dreamy fog, my precious baby boy was born with Down Syndrome. As visitors came to the hospital they had such profound sadness in their eyes. Maybe it was because they didn't know if a single mother could care for a baby with special needs. Maybe because they thought my son was broken. Maybe both. In my dream, I clutched the sleeping angel to my chest and pleaded with our friends and family to see how perfect he was, how perfect we were together as mother and son.

Despite healthy ultrasounds and a total lack of red flags, after that dream I quietly wondered if my son would be born with Down Syndrome.

The morning he was born, the doctor handed me a writhing and screaming beautiful baby boy. The first words my son ever heard me say were, "He's so perfect." And then I burst into tears. The happy kind-- and the oh-my-good-LORD-I-am-glad-that-is-over kind!

As we started our lives together, I felt foolish for letting a dream influence me so. I felt certain that my son would be born with special needs. But there he was, bright eyed and alert with no signs of any challenges.

But still, I worried. I was frustrated with myself and thought I was over thinking, over analyzing. But by his second birthday I was starting to understand that something was a little off.

Today, my son is a vivacious and energetic two-and-a-half year old. He loves to dance, he loves trucks, and he loves to cuddle.

Today, I am also learning that my mommy instincts were right all along. My sweet, amazing boy has unique needs and I'm only now beginning to understand what this means for us. As he grows and develops, his deficits and challenges are becoming clearer. 

Today, my son continues his evaluations to determine the cause of his developmental, social, and behavioral challenges. We don't have a label today, but I expect we will in the coming months.

Although he is no longer a small bundle of newborn joy and we aren't at the hospital with me pleading with loved ones to understand how perfect he is, I still carry my son close to my chest. I still want our friends and family to understand how beautiful and perfect my sweet boy is.

Through writing, I want to help our loved ones understand his challenges. I want to help everyone understand his strengths. I want to help everyone understand how we can love him best.

As the Proverb says, “Storms make oaks take root.” Our story, this story, is now the one of how my son grew his own strong, unshakeable roots.