The Yearling

One year ago, our daughter was born.

I've rehashed the scene in my memory over and over through the past twelve months, still in awe in of What Was, in consideration of What Was Feared.

A week and a half before Ava was born, a clear-sighted perinatologist brought up her floating form on an ultrasound screen and confidently suggested that her heart was whole, yet turned on its axis.  And that, coupled with a constellation of other symptoms, pointed to a probable diagnosis of Downs Syndrome. 

I wondered if we have been the only parents who prayed in favor of an extra chromosome.  When faced between the possibility of a suspected heart defect or a heart turned on its axis (fooling all prior ultrasound interpreters), the preference seemed clear to us.  We begged God for her bodily wholeness.  Let her be whomever You mean her to be, we prayed, but please spare her the pain of multiple surgeries.  I think we feared the capability of a surgeon's hand more than we feared the variety in God's creation.

And a year later, here we all are -- a bit shorter on sleep, but much longer on patience and joy.  Our daughter has grown to become delicately beautiful and deeply intelligent in ways we still cannot wrap our minds around.  She is willful, bold, good-natured, socially sensitive, curious, temperamental, silly, musically inclined, and all the best parts of her parents and grandparents.  

And she is our Cheeks.  

Chunkle Monkey.  Sweetfeets.

Moon Pie.  Pooter Scooter.  Toot.  Cutie Booty.

Little Tree Frog.  Spider Monkey.  Baby-in-my-mirror.

Messy Bessie.  Silly Millie.  

Snuggle Buggle.  Sugar Pie.  Doodlebug.

Baby CRAZYGONUTS!

Mama's Baba.

Big Squirrel!

Darling child.

Ours.