Disabled?

I was born in a small town in a hospital so tiny that I was the only baby in the nursery.

I went to a county school with less than 300 students, mostly farm kids. Middle America at its finest.

 There was little to no cultural diversity to be found and I honestly don't remember ever actually talking to someone with Down syndrome before Liddy was born. Sad to say, looking back, but I'm sure that even had I KNOWN someone with Ds before, I would have been awkward and bumbling in any conversation that I may or may not have deemed worthy of my time.

Down syndrome happened to other people. Not to me. Not to anyone I knew. 

Liddy's prenatal diagnosis floored me. It shook me to my core...and what fell out were a lot of (wrong) preconceived notions. A whole lot of them, most of which I am too ashamed to even admit to thinking.  I didn't understand much, except that based on the way most people reacted, my baby was broken. Broken. In a way that I, despite my SuperMom delusions, could never fix. 

Heartbroken doesn't begin to describe those dark weeks and months that followed. While my husband scoured the internet, searching for faces and stories and positive outcomes, my mind was unable to focus on much more than putting one foot in front of the other, as we moved closer and closer to the day we would be responsible for this little being. I had thought up until that point that I KNEW my daughter already. The fact that she had a broken heart and an extra chromosome made me feel as though someone had been keeping a horrible secret from me for months and had only now chosen to reveal its dark and dire nuances.

Despite my growing doubts, despite my feelings of alienation from the child I thought I knew so well, I couldn't help but love her. Did I pray everyday that a mistake had been made? You betcha. But as time passed and we drew closer to the day that we would meet this miraculous baby, a quiet peace descended in my heart. I might have known nothing about Down syndrome and I may not be able to see the future, but those prayers stopped being about changing her chromosome count and slowly became prayers for her safety, prayers that she would make it until 39 weeks, prayers that she would show the world what a fighter she was from the moment she took her first breath.

I was beyond grateful that all those prayers came to fruition. I was in love (head over heels) from the very first moment I saw her. Suddenly, in the instant it took to hear her cry, to look at her face, I lost sight of Down syndrome and found instead my daughter. My adorable, beautiful, amazingly strong daughter. 

I still had my issues to work through. I can't count the hours I spent in those first days, searching for visible signs of Ds. But in those hours I spent searching her face, I found that the signs mattered less and less. All that mattered was she was here, she was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined, and she fit so perfectly in my arms that it was easy to believe that I had spent my entire life waiting for her to be placed into them.

Blessed beyond measure by this exquisite being. No matter how many chromosomes she had.

Down syndrome didn't change my life. Liddy did.

 She opened doors to a whole new world that I never dreamed existed. She taught me exactly how tough I am, in the midst of being the warmest, cuddliest fighter I have ever known. She renewed my faith. She made me slow down and spend time looking for the tiny every day miracles that my heart skipped past on a daily basis. But most of all, her birth taught me that, despite what the world at large may think, Down syndrome is just a small, minuscule part of who my daughter is. 

 I don't see someone who is "disabled" when I look at her or watch her at play. I see a bright and bubbly child with a mind sharp as a tack and a smile that lights up my world. I see a courageous tiny girl who has faced, with more grace than I could ever hope to muster, things that would bring a grown man or woman to their knees. I see an angel who works so hard to do the things that come so easily to others, but who has the determination to press through the tears and frustration simply because she wants it so bad. She exudes faith and love from every pore...and draws strangers in like a moth to a flame. 

I see grace. I see beauty. I see all of the best traits that God has given humans, all wrapped up one delicate, beribboned package.
She inspires me, and everyone else who knows her, to be a better person...to become someone worthy of being bestowed one of her sunshine smiles or slobbery kisses.

I thank God that children like my own still exist in this world because we would all be missing out on something pretty awesome if they did not.
My life is so much more because of her presence in it.