Alice Cooper and My Daughter
This morning I read Baby Belly, a blog entry by Jennifer Graf Groneberg (who also writes Pinwheels). Groneberg writes about seeing pregnant women and not knowing what to say when they glance at her son who has Down Syndrome and then at her. "I imagine the women with baby bellies don't know what to say to me, either. It's like trailing a pink elephant around, all these possible questions that my situation inspires: "Did you test, did you know ahead of time, do you care?" And the biggie: "How are you okay with all of this?"
The real message, the one mothers like her and me might want to deliver is, "I'm OK with it because it really is OK. Eventually. Even wonderful. And if it happens to you, you'll be OK with it too." But we cannot say that, and most pregnant women won't be able to hear it anyway.
In January, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology (AGOG) recommended all pregnant women receive screening to determine whether the infant has Down Syndrome (among other disabilities). But because 92 percent of pregnancies diagnosed with Down Syndrome are terminated, the new recommendations sound a death-knell to the oncoming generation of people with DS.
People like my daughter. And Jennifer Graf Groneberg's son. Beautiful people with sweet spirits, and an acceptance of others that we should all learn. Newsweek columnist George F. Will even called the move a "search and destroy mission."
Groneberg writes, "When I was a new mom to the twins, I had all the ordinary new mother anxieties, plus one more. I worried about how my son with Down syndrome would be received by the world. The new ACOG recommendations don't help. I fear the world will become a place where life and liberty are not rights granted, but rights that must be earned, with a good set of genes or a high IQ or the right gender."
Like Groneberg, I love to see pregnant women. But my daughter is older than her son. I am farther removed from the experience of being pregnant and worrying that my baby might have Down Syndrome. For several years now, I haven't been aware of pregnant women looking at my daughter and worrying that they might have one too.
Because far more people adore her than are repulsed by her. Almost 10 years of watching this mysterious child charm people around her has protected me from the awareness.
People like Alice Cooper. We used to attend church with him--a blockbuster of a church. We sat toward the back in case we had to take her out, and he happened to prefer the same area. We rarely spoke to him, and I doubt he was even aware of us except as part of the faceless mob.
But he was sure aware of our Girly Girl! He seemed drawn to her. When he sat near us, he would play with our daughter the entire time. Smile games. Peekaboo. Offer his finger for her to grab. Magic sparked between my sweet baby and the craggy, hard rocker, and watching it, my bruised mother's heart began to heal.
If we must live with ACOG's reccomendations, I hope we'll find a wisdom we don't currently have. As parents-to-be are given a diagnosis of Down Syndrome, I hope someday they will also be told of the joys of raising such a child. I hope they will be put in contact with parents and babies who had DS, rather than automatically be encouraged to terminate.
I hope we can learn, collectively, the wisdom of Alice Cooper.
The real message, the one mothers like her and me might want to deliver is, "I'm OK with it because it really is OK. Eventually. Even wonderful. And if it happens to you, you'll be OK with it too." But we cannot say that, and most pregnant women won't be able to hear it anyway.
In January, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology (AGOG) recommended all pregnant women receive screening to determine whether the infant has Down Syndrome (among other disabilities). But because 92 percent of pregnancies diagnosed with Down Syndrome are terminated, the new recommendations sound a death-knell to the oncoming generation of people with DS.
People like my daughter. And Jennifer Graf Groneberg's son. Beautiful people with sweet spirits, and an acceptance of others that we should all learn. Newsweek columnist George F. Will even called the move a "search and destroy mission."
Groneberg writes, "When I was a new mom to the twins, I had all the ordinary new mother anxieties, plus one more. I worried about how my son with Down syndrome would be received by the world. The new ACOG recommendations don't help. I fear the world will become a place where life and liberty are not rights granted, but rights that must be earned, with a good set of genes or a high IQ or the right gender."
Like Groneberg, I love to see pregnant women. But my daughter is older than her son. I am farther removed from the experience of being pregnant and worrying that my baby might have Down Syndrome. For several years now, I haven't been aware of pregnant women looking at my daughter and worrying that they might have one too.
Because far more people adore her than are repulsed by her. Almost 10 years of watching this mysterious child charm people around her has protected me from the awareness.
People like Alice Cooper. We used to attend church with him--a blockbuster of a church. We sat toward the back in case we had to take her out, and he happened to prefer the same area. We rarely spoke to him, and I doubt he was even aware of us except as part of the faceless mob.
But he was sure aware of our Girly Girl! He seemed drawn to her. When he sat near us, he would play with our daughter the entire time. Smile games. Peekaboo. Offer his finger for her to grab. Magic sparked between my sweet baby and the craggy, hard rocker, and watching it, my bruised mother's heart began to heal.
If we must live with ACOG's reccomendations, I hope we'll find a wisdom we don't currently have. As parents-to-be are given a diagnosis of Down Syndrome, I hope someday they will also be told of the joys of raising such a child. I hope they will be put in contact with parents and babies who had DS, rather than automatically be encouraged to terminate.
I hope we can learn, collectively, the wisdom of Alice Cooper.