The other day I got an update on a friend due around the same time as me (we are in our last weeks of pregnancy). In these final weeks, she decided to get a last-minute amnio to check the true genetic features of her baby.
Like me, she had gotten a tip off late in the first trimester that it was possible the baby had Down Syndrome. And also like me, she had made decisions against the risky amnio and decided to play her cards. Her odds were half the risk that mine were, in fact. But the question does sit in the back of a mama's mind and so, a few weeks from delivery and out of the woods for the danger of a miscarriage the test can cause, she got the test done. It came with news that her son indeed has the extra 21st chromosome.
In comforting her with my silly album of gorgeous Down Syndrome babies and assuring her that her son would be a joy, that little question in the back of my mind has started to light up again. What if this baby has Down Syndrome? We'll know when she makes an appearance here soon.
First, if you see an announcement from me here in the next week or two (or three, grumble) proudly holding an infant with almond eyes and curly pinkies, don't you dare offer your condolences. I will delete your comment and serve you food with hairs in it if you come to my house. As long as I come home with a live baby and a pulse of my own, your ass better congratulate me!
It's no easy feat denying yourself champagne for nine months, so this birth will be an occasion for nothing but celebrating. As far as I could see on the ultrasound, my baby has two arms and two legs that will fit just as nicely in these matching sister dresses I've been sewing. She'll grow up in her pretty nursery and scream at bedtime just like any other baby. She's going to enjoy Little Mermaid DVDs on snowy days, balmy beach vacations when we can swing them and spit out her peas at dinner just the same as any other kid of mine so don't feel sorry for us. Feel sorry for me having to clean floors covered in peas.
The truth is, I'm ready for her any way she comes. She's my baby and I love her. I don't care if she has three toes and a purple face, I'll be celebrating everything about her.
And now . . . back to scheming to go into labor. Should I lift some heavy boxes? Do the splits?
Some purdy frocks I made
Filed under: Preach