What ifs

I think at some point everyone asks a what if question. Even a small one-- what if I had been five minutes early instead of twenty minutes late? Would I have made a better contact or been involved in a horrible car accident? What if I hadn’t eaten that last doughnut? Would I have more energy or is it just an extra 20 minutes tacked on my run?

I have a dark what if on my mind these days. It’s not something pregnant moms are supposed to think about, not something anyone is ever supposed to talk about, and I’ll warn you now that some of my thoughts are downright offensive and perhaps even sacrilegious. But I persist in letting them wander across my subconscious from time to time.

The question is what if this baby is born and there’s something wrong with him? I never thought this with my first baby. I always just assumed he would be perfect and “normal” and healthy. Babies are, right?

And I never gave it a second thought as to how I would react if he weren’t perfect-- every parent assumes that as soon as their baby is born they will love it no matter what. And they do and I will too. But I wonder if deep down, there would be that moment of disappointment and despair. Of horror and shame and the awful thought that someone made a big mistake, and I got the wrong baby. How could a parent think that?

I’ve been hearing a lot about autism these days-- lots of people suddenly seem to have kids with this condition. It makes me wonder if God is preparing me to have an autistic child. I saw an article on hemifacial microsomia and thought maybe that will be the case-- one half of the baby’s face is deformed.

Spina bifida, cerebral palsy, congestive heart failure, leukemia, Down’s syndrome… there are so many things that could go wrong. And I’ll bet any parent with a child that has any of those conditions loves that child fiercely, would do anything for them, and wouldn’t trade them for the world. And they mean it-- the words aren’t just lip service. I just wonder if any of them had that moment of anger at God. That tiny, fleeting second when maybe the what ifs creep in.

Neither of my children are perfect, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything, and I love them both fiercely. Outwardly though, and when it comes to disease and deformities they are both sound and whole. Their imperfections lie in the same place my own do-- “normal” issues like having a bad attitude or a penchant for procrastination.

My son has a lot to deal with emotionally, being a little over sensitive like his mother. My daughter has a distinct proclivity for sassiness and backtalk which is probably an age thing. Their issues are mild and common to all children.

A child with one of those other issues would most likely be the same-- just because they are born with a cleft palate doesn’t mean they will have perfect attitudes. Children born with leukemia can still disobey, draw on the walls, try to flush the kitten down the toilet. They will still be sassy and emotional if that is their bent, and fight with their siblings and mouth off and spill things and talk back.

I think those wayward thoughts, if they do cross a parents' mind, are stifled by the reality of their child and the love, so deep and full, that casts out any imperfections in an instant. I think I will be the same. I will see the perfect gift in their smile, lopsided or not, and the love that lights up their eyes when they look at me.

No, I don’t think parents with disabled children feel sorry for themselves or angry at God or regretful for their fate or think about the what ifs. I think they feel blessed and happy that they have such a precious gift. That moment when the news sinks in that their child will always be different must be fleeting at best, before they look at their sleeping baby and love him more than life itself.

Every morning I wake up with a gentle but persistent fluttery kicking in my abdomen. This baby is an early riser, I can tell already. I lay in bed for a few moments with my hand on my belly, feeling him kick and turn and tap out messages from the inside. I love him so much already.

In my mind I already know him-- he has a name and a face, though the face is rather indistinct and exists only in my imagination. He has hopes and dreams and a life ahead of him and all the good things I wish for him are already coming true. He is alive and well.

In the year before I became pregnant with him I lost two other babies. People say all kinds of things meant to be comforting-- maybe they weren’t meant to be born-- maybe they would have been sick or horribly deformed or wouldn’t have lived long. I know they mean well and there's nothing good to say to a mother who has lost a baby, but I loved those babies--I still miss them and ache for them and I can’t be philosophically cheerful about losing them.

I wouldn’t have cared if they’d been born like that-- I wanted them so badly. I wanted them to be born. It scares me to think of losing this baby, every day I’m scared. Every day I’m still pregnant I fall more in love with this baby and thank God that he’s coming.

When I think what if he is sick or deformed and won’t live long, I think of those lost babies. I've wondered if I would have a moment where I curse God and get angry at the unfairness and wish he’d never been born. I think of my two babies in heaven and I know that I won’t. I will be thankful and happy to get to see his little face and count his fingers and toes. And I know that if he’s short a few digits or has a lopsided smile, he will be my sweet baby forever. I don't believe there are what ifs in parenting. Only what is. Love.