In recognition of Down Syndrome Awareness month in October, I’m reprinting a modified version of an article I wrote some 18 years ago that appeared in a couple of websites. Maybe it will be the catalyst to penning a follow up story in the remaining months of 2020.
Although it was her 44th birthday, my wife is the one who came home from her doctor visit with a surprise for me. Madeline was pregnant. I stifled the question “How is that possible?” as it tried to force itself past my lips. After six children, I guess I knew pretty well.
Our youngest was then nine years old. Each milestone he passed had given us a growing sense of freedom: last one out of diapers, last to tie his shoes, ride a bike, learn to swim, go to school. We had already negotiated our mid-life passage without the proverbial crises. Madeline pierced another hole in her ears for a second set of earrings. I started wearing contact lenses because she told me it made me look younger. We were more than ready for a new and exciting chapter in our life. But we weren’t ready for this.
