I look over at my sleeping Ceci. She sits bundled in her car seat still, sound asleep, and unaware of any turmoil around her. And I cry more.
As I sit sobbing, I try to make sense of how I got to this spot on the floor. I attempt to convince myself that this is really happening. It isn't a dream. Life can really change in a matter of moments.
Just earlier that day, Brent had taken off of work to take Ceci to her two month doctor's appointment. I called him at the end of my work day, excited to get the latest Ceci stats: height, weight, and awesomeness. Instead, somberly, Brent tells me to come home right away. I asked him why, my anxiety rising. All he would say was "it's not good."
Between the tears and the worry, I somehow made it home, and that is when I heard the words "Down Syndrome." And that is how I ended up on the floor...next to my sweet baby.
On the ride to the hospital I make Brent tell me the story of the doctor's appointment over and over and over, hoping that at some point, everything will make sense. Wishing that if I heard the story just one more time, I would be able to reach a place of acceptance.
The doctor examined Ceci on the table. The room became silent. The doctor picked Ceci up under her arms. The doctor handed Ceci quickly to Brent. The doctor commented on Ceci's eye shape. The doctor commented on Ceci's low tone. The doctor put Brent on the phone with genetics. The doctor exited stage left.
And with her exit, there we were, just the three of us, in the car, driving to the hospital. Each time I caught Ceci's reflection in the car window, I would cry more.
This was not supposed to happen. We were finally in the clear. We made that long trudge up that hill, and she was born and beautiful and healthy. This was supposed to be my ride down: the joy, the thrill, the excitement. I was not ready for another ride up; I did not have the energy in me.
|Ceci: 2 Months Old|