From the moment she was born, I knew she was different. Adelaide Eileen was born at only 18 inches, with my button nose and crooked pinkies. What she was born without was what caught my eye.
27 years ago I came flying into this world with a shock of dark hair, flailing all 21 inches of my body in a fury weighing just shy of 5 1/2 pounds. During the 3 hours I pushed with Addie, I remember seeing her dark hair, feeling her head and then seeing her little body. She looked just like me, but, to be honest, squat. I held my little ball of baby, loving all over her and sharing with no one.
I wanted to ask the doctors a million questions- I was shocked the next day when her pediatrician measured her at 18 inches.
I knew before I asked. I knew she was my genetic miracle. Our little package of jumbled up genes that was perfectly delivered to us.
A daughter holds her mother’s hand for a while and her heart forever.
I was so tired, but I couldn’t stop staring. She was the most beautiful human I’d ever seen.
Watching her grow, or not, led me to think something was up- but you only think to ask the doctors a question if you think there is something wrong. In my heart of hearts I knew there was nothing wrong, just different about my little Addie. Then I read all about it. Her head was big. I was so scared. Could she have hydrocephalus? I researched all I could. I took Addie to her 2 month appointment and mentioned it to the nurse doing her measurements. She inferred that it was something she was going to mention anyway, due to her head circumference growing, and my heart sank. I wanted to hear “don’t worry about it.” But, as you know from my first post, we ended up leaving that appointment with a script for a ultrasound of her head and x-rays of her long bones.
I took her home, undressed her and examined every inch. I saw her inner thighs and how small her hands were. The non-existent bridge of her nose. The way her legs bowed out. I saw her face, with those shining, deep violet eyes staring up at me. And she’s perfect.
After her diagnosis, Dave and I told a few people. Looking for initial reactions- a way to gauge our responses to people and learn what kind of reactions we would be fielding. And, as if getting unexpected news wasn’t confusing enough, the other shoe dropped.
People said they were sorry. Dave and I found ourselves trying to stop people from saying the wrong thing. Did we tell the wrong close friends? Was it something we said?
Nothing is wrong with her. Why are you sorry? We’re not.
It’s not unfortunate. We’re beyond fortunate to have be chosen by this baby girl.
I knew she was the most beautiful girl from the moment she was born. She is loved to the core- and being so small, that’s a lot of love per inch!
I knew before they told me. I knew she was going to be the best thing to ever happen to me. I knew it. And I love every little bit.
As always I am feeling all of your love come through in your writing. You are so right that Addie is truly a miracle and couldn’t be with a better Mom and Dad. Thank you for sharing in such a beautiful way with all of us.
you are such a beautiful, amazing woman, with a beautiful, amazing daughter. you are truly blessed, as is she. she may not understand it yet, but she is lucky she has the strongest, most supportive mother ever. she will learn confidence and strength from you. your writing is beautiful, and i love you both very dearly.
I agree completely- people think they are helping, but “sorry” is not what I wanted to hear, and I told them as much. Kindly, of course, because I knew it was coming from a good place. I try to be very conscientious of how I tell people, since they just want to say the right thing, but don’t necessarily know what that is. Adelaide is just gorgeous. Congratulations.