A Cup of Comfort for Parents of Children with Special Needs by Colleen Sell

Author:Colleen Sell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Adams Media, Inc.
Published: 2009-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Funny-Looking Kid

When I saw the second blue line appear on the home pregnancy test stick, I jumped up and down in the privacy of the upstairs bathroom. I hadn’t expected to become pregnant so quickly, but I was thrilled from the moment I felt that first wave of queasiness rise up and take hold inside my chest.

I spent the next several months happily preparing for motherhood. My mother and I spent weeks selecting the layette. I wasn’t having the kind of prenatal testing that tells the sex of the baby, so we looked for clothes and accessories that would be appropriate for either. We made regular trips to the trendiest baby stores in the area, choosing receiving blankets, tiny undershirts, and hooded towels trimmed with yellow satin piping.

We went to every baby furniture store within twenty miles in search of the perfect crib. Finally, we found it: white lacquered wood with straight slats and a rounded headboard. We pored over catalogs of special-order crib bedding, looking for something that was neither frilly nor boyish. We found a quilt made of sewn-together squares in all the colors of the rainbow with a matching bumper to protect the baby’s head from banging into the crib’s wooden slats.

I decorated the soon-to-be nursery with mint-green carpeting and wallpaper covered with hundreds of pastel-colored balloons: pink, yellow, sky blue, and green. I bought diapers and wipes, bottles in assorted sizes, cases of formula, and special laundry detergent that would be gentle enough to wash the baby’s clothes without causing irritation.

I was filled with expectation, happy and hopeful. At night I’d sit on the couch with my husband watching television, my legs stretched out in front of me, an afghan covering my feet. Sitting there night after night, hands resting on a stomach that seemed to grow bigger by the minute, I felt content.

The baby was due in March. I watched the snow melt. The garden center on the corner replaced its displays of evergreen and tired-looking wreaths with containers of bright fuchsia flowers and lipstick-red geraniums. I saw the signs of spring as I’d never seen them before, equating them with the new life growing inside me.

After many arguments, we decided on names: Molly or Michael, both in memory of my mother’s father, Morris. We took the requisite Lamaze class, although I tried not to think about the actual birth too much. The thought of all that blood and pain made me anxious. I stayed focused on the baby that would soon come into my life. I thought about becoming a mother for the first time.

On the afternoon of my due date, I started having contractions. Within an hour, they were coming faster and faster. I called my doctor, who told me to keep track of the intensity and frequency. After another hour, my water broke. I called the doctor again, and he told me to come to the hospital. I grabbed the bag I had packed weeks ago, called my parents, and we were on our way.

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