A Letter to My Unborn Child, About the Ache

July 23, 2014

My dear little one,

We are in the seventh month of growing you, and as the time gets closer to meet you, I find I have this aching in my heart and in my body.  I ache to hold you, to smell your fuzzy little head and sweet baby smell.  I ache to see your face and who you resemble.  I ache to have those quiet moments together, just me and you, nursing and cuddling.  When I see other babies and hear their cries, I ache to hear yours.  

Ten weeks ago yesterday, I felt an entirely different ache.  My heart and my body ached then, too, but they ached with desperation and sadness.  When I heard the words, “Your baby has Down Syndrome,” my body doubled over with this hurt.  Through the next two weeks, my heart and mind ached with grief.  I lost sight of you, my sweet baby.  I saw only your condition, not my sweet boy, and you became Down Syndrome.  It’s all I could see.  I couldn’t talk about you without crying.  I couldn’t think of your big brother, Nick, without aching for the brother he would never have, the one I had dreamed for him.  I couldn’t tell our family about your condition because I ached at the thought of upsetting them.  I couldn’t read Nick’s silly book “My New Baby” to him, because it made me cry and hurt and wish for different.  I was seeing what I had lost, and I could no longer see you.  I ached for this unknown. I ached so much because I wasn’t thinking about YOU, I was thinking about this one piece of you.  Part of you, but not all of you.  

I’m not sure, exactly, what brought me back to you.  What brought you back to me.  What dulled that sad, desperate ache.  The support of family and friends, – Oh, they love you so much already! – the welcome we received into this new community of friends with others just as wonderful as you.  These helped the sad ache, I’m sure.  But, I think it was you who brought me back, feeling you kick, reminding me that you’re there, my sweet baby.  That it’s you, my baby, not a condition.  Down Syndrome will be a part of you, and will no doubt influence the amazing person you will be, but it is not all of you.  You’re MY baby.  You chose me for your mom, and for that I ache with joy.

I stopped crying and haven’t cried since those first two weeks after your diagnosis.  You brought me back to the wonderful ache of anticipation and eagerness to meet you.  Don’t tell your brother, but part of me is even more excited than I was when pregnant with him.  I didn’t know what to expect with Nick, but I know how it will feel this time, to hold my sweet new baby, and smell his fuzzy little head and have those quiet moments of cuddling and nursing, just us - what no one else on this earth will have.  The feeling of loving someone so entirely, perfectly and completely.  I know that ache well.  

I love you forever and always, 

Mom