When I found out my friend was (finally) pregnant for the second time, I was overjoyed. When she told me she was pregnant with twins, I was ecstatic. When she told me the genetics testing indicated that one of the babies might have Down Syndrome, I told her not to worry, this is not uncommon news during a twin pregnancy. The genetics counselor told her the same thing and threw out the results from the blood work, calling it useless. Later in the pregnancy, a fetal cardiologist detected a heart defect common in children with Down Syndrome. Although the ultrasounds showed nothing that confirmed this diagnosis, nothing ruled it out either. I held on to slim slices of hope, I tried to reassure my friend. This couldn't be happening.
I went to visit my friend and her just born babies in the hospital. At 6 weeks premature, they were so very small. Barely 4 pounds, two little human beings lay in separate incubators, entangled in wires and tubes. While the nurse on duty spoke to my friend about how much her daughter was eating and gave her an update on her progress, I peeked in on her son. I looked for obvious signs of Down Syndrome, but I really didn't know what to look for. Then, I did something I don't normally do.
I prayed.
I prayed that the results were wrong. I prayed that if it was possible to put together an entire universe that ebbs and flows with pinpoint precision, surely this child was created with the same care and attention to details. I prayed as I spoke quietly to her son, "Welcome to the world, little man. You have some incredible parents and an older brother who love you like you can't possibly imagine. You just have to get stronger."
My friend came over to introduce us. "He's beautiful," I said, "I don't see it." She showed me the fold on his ear, she pointed out the shape of his eyes which wasn't obvious because they were closed. She told me he was karotyped at birth.
He has Down Syndrome.
One of the great mysteries of having twins is the onslaught of curious questions by complete strangers. "Are they identical?", "Did you have help?", "Do they have ESP?", "Are they related?". People mean well, I suppose, but stupid questions come with the territory. It's not always welcome when combined with exhaustion and postpartum hormones.
Apparently, stupid questions come in all flavours when you are the parent of twins, and one of them also has special needs. I'm sure I am guilty. Other than knowing that Down Syndrome, or Trisomy 21 is the result of an extra copy of the 21st chromosome, I was pretty clueless. I've learned quite a bit more from my friend's relentless efforts to educate and spread awareness through her blog, Down Wit Dat. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of what she's doing. I'm proud to support her efforts to improve the world her son will grow up in.
Seven months have passed since two very tiny infants were added to this world. I still don't see Down Syndrome when I look at the face of her youngest son. I know it's there, but there's a great deal more worth seeing. Strangely enough, her youngest son bears a striking resemblance to my grandfather with his round, bald head and his sincerely kind blue eyes. When her children smile, I see their mother's strength and dedication, their father's generosity and humour. There's also an unspoken understanding that will undoubtedly blossom into a protectiveness reserved only for the closest of siblings. When my friend and her husband are with their children, there is really only one thing I see.
Love.
For the month of October, Down Wit Dat will be blogging daily in honour of Down Syndrome Awareness Month, and will continue to do so for November 1 - 7 as well. Check out the Down Wit Dat page on Facebook.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Better history through popsicle crafts
DAYCARE THEME: Thanksgiving
CRAFT: Popsicle people - Pilgrims and Indians
ACTIVITY: Puppet show
STORYTIME:
A long time ago, people lived in a faraway land with lots of rules and very little fun. The people grew tired of always being told what to do.
They took a ship and sailed across the ocean to a place they heard about called "The New Land". There was no king there and no rules. The Pilgrims thought that sounded awesome. But the trip across the ocean was long and many of the pilgrims got very sick on the way.
Dude, you don't look so good
When the Pilgrims arrived at The New Land, it was winter. There was nothing to eat and they were very cold. The Indians, who had been living in this land for some time already, saw the Pilgrims suffering and felt sorry for them. They offered to help teach the Pilgrims how to survive in this hostile new land.
I never get cold as long as I wear my hat
The Indians showed the Pilgrims how to plant seeds and taught them what plants they could eat and which ones were poisonous, and they helped the Pilgrims built shelters that would protect them from the brutally cold winters.
The following autumn, the seeds had grown into plants bountiful with fruits and vegetables. Grateful for the Indian's assistance, the Pilgrims invited their new friends over for a feast and so began the tradition of Thanksgiving.
I've been basting that burger all day
The Pilgrims and the Indians ate and ate and ate some more. The food was so delicious, everybody just kept eating until nobody could eat another crumb. And another well known Thanksgiving tradition was invented:
Turkey-itis
Happy Thanksgiving everybody. Eat responsibly.
CRAFT: Popsicle people - Pilgrims and Indians
ACTIVITY: Puppet show
STORYTIME:
A long time ago, people lived in a faraway land with lots of rules and very little fun. The people grew tired of always being told what to do.
They took a ship and sailed across the ocean to a place they heard about called "The New Land". There was no king there and no rules. The Pilgrims thought that sounded awesome. But the trip across the ocean was long and many of the pilgrims got very sick on the way.
Dude, you don't look so good
When the Pilgrims arrived at The New Land, it was winter. There was nothing to eat and they were very cold. The Indians, who had been living in this land for some time already, saw the Pilgrims suffering and felt sorry for them. They offered to help teach the Pilgrims how to survive in this hostile new land.
I never get cold as long as I wear my hat
The Indians showed the Pilgrims how to plant seeds and taught them what plants they could eat and which ones were poisonous, and they helped the Pilgrims built shelters that would protect them from the brutally cold winters.
The following autumn, the seeds had grown into plants bountiful with fruits and vegetables. Grateful for the Indian's assistance, the Pilgrims invited their new friends over for a feast and so began the tradition of Thanksgiving.
I've been basting that burger all day
The Pilgrims and the Indians ate and ate and ate some more. The food was so delicious, everybody just kept eating until nobody could eat another crumb. And another well known Thanksgiving tradition was invented:
Turkey-itis
Happy Thanksgiving everybody. Eat responsibly.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Teething Tales
It started a few weeks ago when Erin remarked that one of her bottom front teeth was loose. "Look!" she announced and she demonstrated her newly discovered ability to wiggle her tiny tooth with her tongue. "I'm almost a growed up!"
I remember when that tooth made it's first appearance five years ago. That one and it's neighbour poked through my daughter's gums and ended all future opportunities to capture those adorable toothless smiles. Her twin brother, Ty, sported his first two teeth a mere two days later. We seem to do a lot of stuff in groups of 'two' around here.
Two years later, after depleting the local supply of Infant Tylenol, both kids had finished growing all their teeth. What happened in between is a blur of interrupted sleep and caffeine fueled automation. For the life of me, I can't recall what happened between incisors and molars. I do remember belting out a chorus of "Hallelujah!" when it was over.
Erin, now 5, stands in front of the mirrored closet doors in the hallway, smiling and wiggling her loose tooth. "When is it going to fall out, Mom?"
"When it's ready, sweetie."
"What's going to happen to my tooth when it falls out?"
"The tooth fairy will take it away and give you a twoonie for it."
"Why?"
Leave it to my daughter to question the order of things. She wants to be a paleontologist when she grows up and has no trouble rattling off the names of a few dozen Mesozoic reptiles. She is the intrinsic scientist, never failing to question any answer despite an abundance of prevailing facts.
"Well," I hesitate, hoping I can deliver a convincing helping of harmless chicanery. Just like the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the noisy giants that cause thunderstorms by bowling. My response is intended to help her understand the natural changes of growing up. "The tooth fairy will take your baby tooth and recycle it. Then she'll have a tooth to give to a little baby."
Her expression tells me I need to sweeten the deal. "And she'll even give you a coin to thank you for being so thoughtful."
My creative explanation is met with a strange, I'm-not-buying-that-load-of-baloney stare. Thankfully, she is quickly distracted by the toy trains her brother is playing with.
Whew!
A week goes by. Two. Then three. The loose tooth won't fall out. Erin is intrigued. Anxious. Excited. A 4' 2" bundle of anticipation.
Meanwhile, the date Nana offered to host the kids at her house for four days is rapidly approaching. There is a little trepidation. Will Nana be able to keep up with two rambunctious five year olds? Will they behave for her? Will we adjust to the deafening quiet that consumes this house when children are not present? Erin and Ty depart for their Nana adventure, bouncing with excitement. Hubby and I console ourselves in the backyard inflatable pool, chilled pina coladas in hand.
Nana calls that evening to reassure us that the kids are behaving well and we get to talk to each before they are tucked in for the night. Erin has special news.
"My tooth fell out!"
We reassure Erin that the tooth fairy will come to collect her tooth. Ty is thrilled for his sister, but clearly irritated that his teeth remain firmly placed in his gums. In the morning, she finds a twoonie under her pillow, as promised. When we meet a few days later for our reunion with the kids, Erin greets me with her usual smile, minus one lower incisor. She proudly holds out a coin to show me. "Look what the tooth fairy gave me! Now a baby will get a new tooth!"
These are precious times, when the word of Mom and Dad is as indisputable as any truth. As heartening as it is to bask in their innocent faith of unrealistic and impossible things, their future success depends on eventually learning to question the information presented and distinguish fact from fiction. I don't know when that time will come, but I'm hoping it won't be for another thirty-nine teeth.
I remember when that tooth made it's first appearance five years ago. That one and it's neighbour poked through my daughter's gums and ended all future opportunities to capture those adorable toothless smiles. Her twin brother, Ty, sported his first two teeth a mere two days later. We seem to do a lot of stuff in groups of 'two' around here.
Two years later, after depleting the local supply of Infant Tylenol, both kids had finished growing all their teeth. What happened in between is a blur of interrupted sleep and caffeine fueled automation. For the life of me, I can't recall what happened between incisors and molars. I do remember belting out a chorus of "Hallelujah!" when it was over.
Erin, now 5, stands in front of the mirrored closet doors in the hallway, smiling and wiggling her loose tooth. "When is it going to fall out, Mom?"
"When it's ready, sweetie."
"What's going to happen to my tooth when it falls out?"
"The tooth fairy will take it away and give you a twoonie for it."
"Why?"
Leave it to my daughter to question the order of things. She wants to be a paleontologist when she grows up and has no trouble rattling off the names of a few dozen Mesozoic reptiles. She is the intrinsic scientist, never failing to question any answer despite an abundance of prevailing facts.
"Well," I hesitate, hoping I can deliver a convincing helping of harmless chicanery. Just like the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the noisy giants that cause thunderstorms by bowling. My response is intended to help her understand the natural changes of growing up. "The tooth fairy will take your baby tooth and recycle it. Then she'll have a tooth to give to a little baby."
Her expression tells me I need to sweeten the deal. "And she'll even give you a coin to thank you for being so thoughtful."
My creative explanation is met with a strange, I'm-not-buying-that-load-of-baloney stare. Thankfully, she is quickly distracted by the toy trains her brother is playing with.
Whew!
A week goes by. Two. Then three. The loose tooth won't fall out. Erin is intrigued. Anxious. Excited. A 4' 2" bundle of anticipation.
Meanwhile, the date Nana offered to host the kids at her house for four days is rapidly approaching. There is a little trepidation. Will Nana be able to keep up with two rambunctious five year olds? Will they behave for her? Will we adjust to the deafening quiet that consumes this house when children are not present? Erin and Ty depart for their Nana adventure, bouncing with excitement. Hubby and I console ourselves in the backyard inflatable pool, chilled pina coladas in hand.
Nana calls that evening to reassure us that the kids are behaving well and we get to talk to each before they are tucked in for the night. Erin has special news.
"My tooth fell out!"
We reassure Erin that the tooth fairy will come to collect her tooth. Ty is thrilled for his sister, but clearly irritated that his teeth remain firmly placed in his gums. In the morning, she finds a twoonie under her pillow, as promised. When we meet a few days later for our reunion with the kids, Erin greets me with her usual smile, minus one lower incisor. She proudly holds out a coin to show me. "Look what the tooth fairy gave me! Now a baby will get a new tooth!"
These are precious times, when the word of Mom and Dad is as indisputable as any truth. As heartening as it is to bask in their innocent faith of unrealistic and impossible things, their future success depends on eventually learning to question the information presented and distinguish fact from fiction. I don't know when that time will come, but I'm hoping it won't be for another thirty-nine teeth.
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