(The following is a brief excerpt from my book KRASATA, a Memoir of Motherhood, Down Syndrome and Surprising Beauty, a story about the birth of our third daughter in the former Soviet Union while we lived there as missionaries and her diagnosis of Down syndrome.) The first time I had felt the baby move, I was in the bath, looking down at my cushioned middle. The movement was just a slight flutter. She probably wasn’t
If so, I have a message for you this morning. It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay that you struggled. It’s okay that you are struggling. It’s okay. That’s it. That’s my message. I’ve struggled. I still struggle. Here are a few past posts to prove it: A Few Thoughts, a post about my true feelings upon meeting my daughter You’re doing it wrong, a post about second guessing myself as a mother I’m scared of
Post-adoption depression Last Thursday I took Evangeline, our adopted daughter from Ukraine, five years old, diagnosed with Down syndrome, to a developmental pediatrician. “I heard this doctor is good at what he does, and I want his opinion about Evie’s lack of development since she’s been home from Ukraine,” I affirmed rather loudly to my husband Sergei in an effort to hide that really, I was taking Evangeline to this doctor for a second opinion.
We had our first real snow in Chicago yesterday. It came late in the season, after shimmering Christmas lights had been taken down and stored away for next year. After the two-week winter break from school, a time when kids typically layer clothing and snowsuits to burrow in the snow, build forts, and come back in and sip steaming hot cocoa, had come and gone. Instead, my kids played outside with their neighbor friends during