Perfection.

I was reading an amazing blog post this week (read it here) and it really struck a cord for me. It is the birth story of a perfectly beautiful little baby girl with Downs Syndrome. Her Momma and Daddy didn't know that she had Downs until the moment of her birth. As I read it I sat and cried. For this woman's picture of "perfection" being shattered into a million pieces and then being built back up again and something new and beautiful again. It made me think about my own ideals and thoughts of what my brand of perfection would be once I finally became a mother.

Over the nearly five years it took to get and stay pregnant I had a lot of time to think. About what kind of Mom I would be. What kind of kids I would have. What kind of life I would lead. In that dream I never considered the idea of genetic mutations, hours and hours of therapy each week, adaptive equipments, specialists on speed-dial. If you had offered it to me I might have walked. (Probably now but who the hell knows.)

When I think about the day that I found out something was wrong with Abby I am so filled with emotion. As I lay on that table and the ultrasound technician got graver and graver I felt like it was all falling apart. I wanted to jump off the table, rewind my life back and change it. I was not supposed to be the mother of a disabled child. That wasn't the picture. That wasn't going to be my perfection. I remember going home and not being able to speak the words that filled every millimeter of my brain. I DON'T WANT IT LIKE THIS! I want normal. I want perfection. I want to go back to the hours before when I was perfectly pregnant. Nothing was wrong. I was having healthy, NORMAL twins.

It wasn't long before it was all reframed for me. Brian and I picked up all those shattered, broken pieces and cerated a new perfect for ourselves. It wasn't what I had thought I was getting but it was better. They were meant to be mine and I was meant to be there's. It doesn't matter what we picture. What we get is going to be better.