Lincoln

“The lucky few”

I’ll never forget the ring of my phone that morning. I was at work, lost in my usual routine, when I saw my OBGYN’s number pop up. It was earlier than she’d ever called before. Something inside me tightened — mothers know.

When I answered, I heard her voice pause before the words came. “Down syndrome.”

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room. My chest tightened, my heart stopped. I was only 27 — wasn’t that supposed to happen to women much older than me? A million questions and fears swirled through my mind in an instant. But when the dust settled, only one thought mattered: Is my baby going to be okay?

I wasn’t asking how I would raise a child with special needs. I wasn’t worried about what other people might think. My only fear was losing him.

At the time, I “knew” about Down syndrome in the way most people think they do — surface-level facts, assumptions, and stereotypes. But what I quickly learned is that it isn’t something you cause, and it has nothing to do with age. It’s one of those unexplainable twists of life.

The Choice That Wasn’t Really a Choice

The weeks after were filled with appointments, tests, and endless “what ifs” from doctors. Each conversation seemed to end the same way: “If you choose to move forward with the pregnancy…”

I heard it so many times that I finally stopped them:

“Unless my child is going to be brain-dead or I’m going to die and leave my kids without a mom, I am moving forward. A diagnosis doesn’t change the fact that this is still my baby. And I love him no matter what.”

An amniocentesis later confirmed what we already knew — every single cell tested came back with Down syndrome.

I cried once. Just once. Not because I thought my life was ending, but because I was terrified of his life — terrified that he might not survive, that he might miss out on the childhood milestones other kids get to experience. Looking back, I realize my tears came from being uneducated, from not yet knowing all that Lincoln would be capable of.

The Rocky Beginning

When Lincoln arrived, he came with his own whirlwind. He was whisked into the NICU, where the list of complications seemed endless: infection, a PIC line, failed hearing tests, oxygen drops during his car seat test. Doctors found heart defects they hadn’t caught before birth, and kidney reflux added itself to the list.

It was overwhelming. No one prepares you for the mountain of specialists, follow-ups, and therapies that come with raising a child with extra needs. But then, piece by piece, Lincoln began proving that even the steepest mountain could be climbed.

His kidney reflux resolved on its own. His heart defects? Cleared. His strength? Unshakable. Every doctor who once spoke in cautious tones now marveled at his progress.

Life with Lincoln

Lincoln still faces challenges. He has permanent hearing loss, swallowing difficulties, asthma, and delays in milestones. He doesn’t speak yet, and his diet of solid foods is limited. His week is filled with speech, physical, and occupational therapy.

But here’s the thing: none of that defines him.

Lincoln is joy personified. His smile lights up a room. His belly laugh — deep and contagious — ripples into everyone around him. When he flaps his arms in pure excitement, you can see his happiness radiating outward.

I’ll never forget when a family friend left me a voicemail after my pregnancy news: “You are so lucky to be blessed with a child with Down syndrome.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand. Of course, I knew I was blessed to have another baby — but I didn’t yet realize the kind of gift I was about to be given.

The Things He’s Taught Me

At 2½, Lincoln has already proven me wrong in so many beautiful ways. The baby I once worried wouldn’t hold his head up now climbs onto the kitchen table if I so much as turn away. He’s been walking for over a year. He navigates an iPad better than most adults. And though he doesn’t speak yet, he uses sign language to let us into his world.

Every day, he shows me how brilliant and capable he is. Every day, he surprises me.

The Lucky Few

Sometimes I think back to that phone call at work, when the words “Down syndrome” stopped me cold. And then I look at Lincoln now — the boy who fills our days with laughter, who radiates love so purely it spills into everyone around him.

I’m endlessly thankful I chose to continue my pregnancy. No amount of anxiety, no number of doctor visits, no sleepless nights could ever outweigh the joy and love he’s brought into our lives.

Now I understand why parents like me are called The Lucky Few. Because very few people get to know what it’s like to be loved by someone with Down syndrome — and it is the purest, most euphoric love imaginable.

Lincoln loves books, farm animals, golf cart rides, playground swings, and time with his family. But more than anything, Lincoln loves life — and I love him with every fiber of my being.

-Destiney, Mom