And in the end, the love you take/ Is equal to the love you make. — The Beatles

One morning last week, I woke up before Sophie, who had made her way (as usual) into our bed sometime in the night. Typically, Sophie is a restless sleeper, except for when it’s time to get up. I lounged for a few extra minutes, absent-mindedly running the back of my index finger up and down her cheekbone. I looked at her sweet face and it occurred to me how comfortable I am with this little creature.

And how weird that is.

Not long after Sophie was born — while Ray was busy reading medical textbooks and I was busy trying to think of something else — he said something about our younger daughter that I’ll never forget.

“You know, Sophie really is some sort of miracle,” said the least religious person I know. “She shouldn’t even be alive, not really. Every bit of her is different from every bit of us. She’s this totally unique being.”

Not exactly. Down syndrome, I know today, is one of the most common (if not the most common) genetic defects. Not that I’d ever met anyone with it before Sophie was born, as you know if you’ve read this blog much at all.

Before Sophie was born, and for a good long time after (and sometimes even now, depending on the situation) I was terrified of people with disabilities. When she was born, I didn’t wonder if I’d ever consider her just a member of the family; it didn’t occur to me that I ever would or could.

Stroking her little, other-worldly face the other day, I realized that now I do.

I’ve expressed similar sentiments in the past on GIAPH, but there’s a purpose today. Last week I put up an entirely unremarkable post about something that happened in Brownies, and in return I got the gift of a lifetime, in the form of a comment from Elaine.

Basically (as far as I know) there are two kinds of people who read this blog: People I already  knew before I had Sophie and people who have a specific interest in Down syndrome — maybe they have a kid with DS, that kind of thing.

I treasure both. Truly. I am in awe of the fact that anyone reads any blog any more, let alone mine, and I’ve learned so much from reading the blogs of other parents with kids with DS, something I never thought I’d do.

Elaine doesn’t fall into either category. She found my blog simply because she has a blog about her own daughter, who is named Sophie, and wordpress guided her to mine. Thank you, wordpress. Elaine is so cool! An American Studies professor, a rock climber, an adventurer in ways big and small. I think I can call her a friend. I hope so.

Elaine, to be completely and brutally honest, is my “target audience”  for Girl in a Party Hat, and for everything I wrote about Down syndrome and all that comes with it. That sounds so tacky, but it’s true. I write about Sophie for lots of reasons, but mostly because I hope there’s one person out there who knows nothing about Down syndrome who might stumble on my work and learn something, and not be afraid.

Now, there’s no doubt that Elaine is a far more evolved human being than I am, but still, I think you get the idea. At least, you will when you read the comment she left me last week.

… I have been meaning to write you a note myself. Because I’m 37 (nearly 38) and pregnant, my midwife has been encouraging me to get the non-invasive tests to check if my baby has the likelihood of chromosomal abnormalities. When she first asked if I wanted this, I said, “What would I possibly do with that information?” And then I realized the obvious answer: “I would phone up Amy Silverman and get even more tips than I’ve already gotten from her about how to parent a kid with Down syndrome, and I’d get myself as prepared as I could be for the adventure to come.”

The tests came back negative, so my chances are down to 1 in 11,000 or so. But the nice thing was, it didn’t really matter. Because reading your blog has made me think that parenting a kid with Down syndrome IS an adventure (“the best thing that ever happened to you,” I think your profile used to say), not an easy adventure, but certainly one that I could embark on, knowing already to expect heart problems and social-service-negotiations and IEPs and struggles around friendships and finding fashionable eye-glasses and everything else you write about. It’s an enormous demystification you’re doing for all of us.

What could have been terrifying suspense in all those visits to various doctors’ offices (drawing blood, measuring the fat-folds in the back of the fetus’s neck, drawing more blood later…) became far less terrifying, because your blog has made Down syndrome seem so much less foreign to me.

I know I’m not quite your intended audience, if such a creature even exists. I don’t live in Arizona, don’t have a child with Down syndrome or any reason to care particularly about it — before this pregnancy at what I’m now learning is apparently old age. I just happened on your blog and loved your writing and your attitude.

And it turns out I’ve been learning a whole lot all along, from you, without realizing it.

Thanks.

No, Elaine. Thank you. More than I can say. As my sweet friend Heather put it, that was a wonderful moment.