(For those looking for an update: Eon's EEG is scheduled for Wednesday morning. We have not witnessed anymore seizure activity. We'll keep you posted.)
Today, I am incredibly grateful to be Simeon's mom. I'm lying on my bed typing on my laptop and Eon is in the tv room right outside mine. He's playing ball with his big brother, Ben. His pants are falling off and his diaper is sagging, giving him a plumber's crack.
Any second, he's going to catch sight of me and run in here signing, "diaper" so I'll change it. While in here, he'll invariable sneak a drink of my coke (and cough...he's still not supposed to have thin liquids) and throw a book at me so I'll read to him.
This morning, he raced into church ahead of me and took off toward the stairs to go to his class. He was indignant when I steered him to the bathroom to wash breakfast off his face, instead. He kept signing, "play, play!" Big sister dropped him off at his class. She later told me that he walked up to the gate and said, "Hiiiiiiii!" and signed, "Play!" to a little boy who was waiting there, then lifted his arms to be carried over the gate and into the classroom. Once inside, he gave a backward wave to big sis and joined in the fun.
I was thinking earlier how empty my life would've been had I chosen differently and terminated my pregnancy for Down syndrome.
Every year, on my due date, there would be tears, sadness, and even guilt. Now, there's cake, candles, presents, and laughter.
If someone with Down syndrome crossed my path, I would inwardly cringe, even as I watched, wondering if they'd confirm my choice by behavior or need. Now, there's an instant delight and immediate connection as we compare notes on our similar trails.
I might feel some measure of relief, along with my pangs of grief, from time to time that my life is not as difficult as I was sure that it would be, but I also would never know what I do now...that courage grows from meeting challenges, that depth comes from embracing hard things, and that love really does conquer all.
He's a miracle, this child of mine. In spite of all odds, he's not only here, he's thriving. He's teaching me what living really means. He's leading me in my quest to discover one thousand gifts, of which he's certainly one.
Without him, my life would have less color. I imagine the winters a little colder and the edges a little harder. The highs of life would be less high and the lows would last longer. There would be less laughter, less passion, less grace...less life.
And I would never know.
What a gift he is to me, this exuberant bundle of designer genes! I am so humbled that God gave me the eyes to see beyond the fear. How I pray that others will see, as well.