Dear Bogdan's birthmother,
Five years ago today, your dream of motherhood became a reality. I imagine your trek to the hospital. After ten long years of infertility, the wait was finally over and your precious gift would soon arrive.
They told me his was a normal delivery. Having delivered seven of my own, I can well imagine your tears of elation and relief as you caressed him and held him to you after that final push. Did you see signs right away? Did they? Were there hushed whispers and knowing looks? Did they whisk your boy away for further observation? Or did you get time with him to bask in the glow of new motherhood before the darkness descended?
At some point, you did find out. Down syndrome. That news I don't have to imagine. I've been there. I know the air was sucked from the room in that moment.
But the weight of it was heavier for you than it was for me.
The only choice that you could see was dark and devastating. And, in contrast to the overwhelmingly long but hopeful road that brought you to motherhood, the trip out of it was abrupt and rife with grief.
And so I can't help but think about you on this day, and wonder if I'm loving him well enough for you.
As he sits next to me when I write this and pinches me hard, I try to react with grace and remind myself that he's overtired from a full day of school and therapy. I tickle him and he smirks and climbs off the couch.
Can I be honest?
He wasn't what I was expecting, either.
I was expecting Down syndrome. I wanted Down syndrome. I would've welcomed the usual medical conditions that often accompany it. We checked boxes and boxes on the adoption papers of all the things we felt we could handle. So many things we were willing to accept along with a Down syndrome diagnosis.
Autism was left unchecked.
Autism was something of which I knew so little about...and cared to know even less. It scared the crap out of me and I knew there was no way I could handle that.
I was absolutely right.
The road to where we are has been rocky, full of potholes and unexpected turns. We didn't know what we were dealing with. I watched other children come home from worse situations and make amazing progress and our boy seemed stuck with no efforts to sign, to speak, to wave bye-bye, even. A year in and he was still drinking from a bottle. It took months of therapy to teach him to look at us and interact beyond a suspicious stare.
When behaviors ramped up around the one-year-home mark, I was beside myself with worry and fear, but also beginning to finally accept that God, in His infinite wisdom (and sense of humor) had checked the autism box for us.
There were times I worried I'd lose myself in learning to love our boy. While he has a smile that can light up a room, his pinches leave bruises, his bites leave teeth marks, and his incredible aim has left bumps on more than a few noggins.
I confess that I don't always react with grace. Frustration and fear have too often colored my response. I sometimes wonder what you would do if you were in my stead. Because I've no doubt that you have wished for a do-over at least a thousand times. Would you do this better than me? I fear you would. As with all my kids, I fail him much.
He's learning so much! I wish you could see him now.
As I was going to put food on the table for dinner, I felt him brush past me as he raced to his seat, pulled it out, and climbed up in it, always ready for a meal.
He's no longer content to sit in the background and play with shoes, but wants to join in, often painfully scratching my feet in his version of tickling, which he finds hilarious. I can't help but laugh, too, because I'm so overjoyed that he wants to be apart of us and is trying so hard to play appropriately!
Every once in awhile, for reasons I will never know, he gifts me with the most fabulous spontaneous neck hug. And it sends me to the moon.
You see, it was tough going for awhile. But, I love this boy of ours. I accept him fully now, no matter a diagnosis, no matter what's to come. I am blessed and honored to be his mom.
Thank you for nurturing him when he was in your womb. Thank you for birthing him well. I hope somehow you can see across the miles that he's good and that he's loved. I hope it eases the hard of this day for you.
And, thankfully, I did lose myself in learning to love him. Pretty sure that's what God had in mind all along.
Love,
Bo's mom
Five years ago today, your dream of motherhood became a reality. I imagine your trek to the hospital. After ten long years of infertility, the wait was finally over and your precious gift would soon arrive.
They told me his was a normal delivery. Having delivered seven of my own, I can well imagine your tears of elation and relief as you caressed him and held him to you after that final push. Did you see signs right away? Did they? Were there hushed whispers and knowing looks? Did they whisk your boy away for further observation? Or did you get time with him to bask in the glow of new motherhood before the darkness descended?
At some point, you did find out. Down syndrome. That news I don't have to imagine. I've been there. I know the air was sucked from the room in that moment.
But the weight of it was heavier for you than it was for me.
The only choice that you could see was dark and devastating. And, in contrast to the overwhelmingly long but hopeful road that brought you to motherhood, the trip out of it was abrupt and rife with grief.
And so I can't help but think about you on this day, and wonder if I'm loving him well enough for you.
As he sits next to me when I write this and pinches me hard, I try to react with grace and remind myself that he's overtired from a full day of school and therapy. I tickle him and he smirks and climbs off the couch.
Can I be honest?
He wasn't what I was expecting, either.
I was expecting Down syndrome. I wanted Down syndrome. I would've welcomed the usual medical conditions that often accompany it. We checked boxes and boxes on the adoption papers of all the things we felt we could handle. So many things we were willing to accept along with a Down syndrome diagnosis.
Autism was left unchecked.
Autism was something of which I knew so little about...and cared to know even less. It scared the crap out of me and I knew there was no way I could handle that.
I was absolutely right.
The road to where we are has been rocky, full of potholes and unexpected turns. We didn't know what we were dealing with. I watched other children come home from worse situations and make amazing progress and our boy seemed stuck with no efforts to sign, to speak, to wave bye-bye, even. A year in and he was still drinking from a bottle. It took months of therapy to teach him to look at us and interact beyond a suspicious stare.
When behaviors ramped up around the one-year-home mark, I was beside myself with worry and fear, but also beginning to finally accept that God, in His infinite wisdom (and sense of humor) had checked the autism box for us.
There were times I worried I'd lose myself in learning to love our boy. While he has a smile that can light up a room, his pinches leave bruises, his bites leave teeth marks, and his incredible aim has left bumps on more than a few noggins.
I confess that I don't always react with grace. Frustration and fear have too often colored my response. I sometimes wonder what you would do if you were in my stead. Because I've no doubt that you have wished for a do-over at least a thousand times. Would you do this better than me? I fear you would. As with all my kids, I fail him much.
He's learning so much! I wish you could see him now.
As I was going to put food on the table for dinner, I felt him brush past me as he raced to his seat, pulled it out, and climbed up in it, always ready for a meal.
He's no longer content to sit in the background and play with shoes, but wants to join in, often painfully scratching my feet in his version of tickling, which he finds hilarious. I can't help but laugh, too, because I'm so overjoyed that he wants to be apart of us and is trying so hard to play appropriately!
Every once in awhile, for reasons I will never know, he gifts me with the most fabulous spontaneous neck hug. And it sends me to the moon.
You see, it was tough going for awhile. But, I love this boy of ours. I accept him fully now, no matter a diagnosis, no matter what's to come. I am blessed and honored to be his mom.
Thank you for nurturing him when he was in your womb. Thank you for birthing him well. I hope somehow you can see across the miles that he's good and that he's loved. I hope it eases the hard of this day for you.
And, thankfully, I did lose myself in learning to love him. Pretty sure that's what God had in mind all along.
Love,
Bo's mom
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