Every now and then, I lose sight of the fact that my son has Down syndrome. It’s so easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of his two-year-old tantrums, his cheeky grin, and his unstoppable spirit. Noah is both stubborn and sweet-hearted. When his older sister is having an epic meltdown worthy of a four-year-old drama queen, he’s the first to rush over and check on her. He loves to climb into your lap, gently caressing your cheek with his tiny fingers as if to say, “I love you.”
Of course, he also has his moments of chaos—opening drawers, pulling everything out, and tossing it all on the floor. When I confront him, he ducks his head, peering up at me from beneath his eyebrows with an innocent little smirk. Sometimes he helps tidy up, but often he just wanders off to cause more mischief. He adores music and will start dancing the moment he hears a tune. No matter how upset he was just seconds before, he can’t resist joining in a round of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” or “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Noah can turn almost anything into a musical instrument, even dancing to the fireworks on the Fourth of July!
Sometimes, I forget that Noah is simply Noah. When I look at him, I don’t see Down syndrome. I see my son, his sister’s brother, a delightful, determined little boy with a big heart.
But then, there are those moments when others remind me in not-so-gentle ways. Like the time a cashier gave me pitying eyes and whispered, “I bet you wish you had known before he was born. You know they have a test for that now…” Shock, anger, and hurt flooded through me. I imagined yanking her over the counter (but, you know, orange isn’t my color). Instead, I channeled my inner crazy lady and replied, “I know right?! It’s SO much harder to get rid of them once they come out. Believe me, I’ve tried…”
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. Leaning closer, I whispered, “So, you’re saying it’s fine for me to terminate him while he’s inside, but not after he’s born? For me, there’s no difference. Just so you know, we were aware of everything about him during my pregnancy. There’s no way I’d ever let harm come to either of my kids, especially when society considers them disposable.”
I sometimes forget that not everyone sees Noah the way I do. Instead, they see a “Downs kid,” a burdened family, a child who must be suffering or incapable. I remember, until I catch a glimpse of pity in their eyes or hear ignorant remarks whispered just loud enough for me to hear.
It’s not their fault—they just don’t understand. They haven’t experienced the joy of Noah’s laughter or the warmth of his smile. They haven’t witnessed the fierce protection his sister offers him, despite her insistence that she doesn’t like “boy babies.” They haven’t cheered as he conquers new milestones, their hearts swelling with pride.
I sometimes forget that I was once in their shoes too. Before Noah, my knowledge of Down syndrome came solely from nursing textbooks, which only filled me with fear of a lifeless, incapable child. I didn’t know.
We often forget that to us, they’re just Noah, Lily, Ethan, or Ava, and that’s exactly how it should be.
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Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, Maria shares her experience as a parent of a child with Down syndrome, highlighting the everyday joys and challenges. She emphasizes the importance of seeing children for who they are, rather than their diagnosis, and addresses the well-meaning yet hurtful comments from others. Ultimately, the post promotes understanding and acceptance of all children, regardless of their differences.