Trip trap

Yesterday I had my first experience of being targeted by an Internet troll. 

It’s not something I was hoping to experience, especially when the target was really Audrey, but I’m glad we’ve got it out of the way.

Several months ago one of the DS families I follow on Instagram had some nasty comments on a photo; something along the lines of “you should have aborted this ugly baby”. And it made my stomach churn. How could anyone say such a thing? Why would they say it? And it scared me and made me feel concerned about sharing pictures of Audrey.

Audrey’s troll left a comment and tagged another account, so the two different accounts had a little chat back and forth on one of her pictures. However I don’t know which picture and I didn’t understand all the “banter” or “abuse”, because they used code or strange slang and then deleted it all. But I had seen the notification on my iPhone, so I could still look at the comments even after they’d gone from Instagram. It wasn’t so bad. Account A says to Account B; “Aww it’s a cute retard”. Account B says “jcl XD” And there’s a bit of random letters and then “Bye”. I found both accounts and blocked them, so that was that.

But I do feel a bit… “exposed”. I share our life with Audrey to spread a positive message and I’m usually filled with pride and a warm fuzzy feeling from all our “likes” and comments. The trolls are rare, but they are still out there… 

Of course I won’t let them stop me sharing, Audrey has more fans than trolls! But if any potential trolls are reading this; please remember there’s a real person behind the computer screen/iPhone/tablet and they might be genuinely hurt by your “funny” comment. We are a real family and share our lives online to show what love looks like – it doesn’t see disability, that’s for sure and it would never, ever, use the word “retard”.
My beautiful little girl (doesn’t she look grown up??):

  

Bragging

I wanted to list some stuff Audrey can do, I’m not really bragging, just want to remember how well she’s doing and have an excuse to document small things we may forget.

Don’t get me wrong either, I am fully aware typical children can do all these things and much, much more and that other kids with DS might be ahead of us too, but I am super proud of every little thing Audrey has achieved. The bar was set low when we realised she had Down Syndrome (sad but true), but those low expectations mean BIG celebrations when she achieves. We are a family of clappers and cheerers!

Ok, so signs-wise Audrey knows loads, but these are words she also says whilst signing:

Dada (putting this at the top as it is her most successful word-sign combo!)

Mama 

Banana (narna)

More

Cake (don’t judge! She has rice cakes and pancakes a lot, so associates the word with those things as well as the odd nibble of Mummy’s lemon drizzle!)

Audrey can sign (without saying):

Bibi (Grandma)

Finished

Food

Blueberries

Yoghurt

Milk

Biscuit

Water/drink

Nappy

Where

Cuddle

Hello and goodbye

Baby

Bird

Dog

Flower

Bus

Bath

Sleep

Brush

Glasses

Monkey

Elephant

She also signs the actions to Incy Wincy Spider, Row Row, Twinkle Twinkle, the Wheels on the Bus and a few other songs.

She can high five and fist bump, blow kisses, give tickles and reach out to be picked up.

She knows her feet and toes, her nose and her head.

She can wash her face and hands with a wet wipe (although she is started to just suck on the wet wipe!).

She loves to take off and put on hats and glasses, she also likes putting things in and taking them out of boxes or bags.

She can brush her hair and ours. She can feed herself with a spoon (but doesn’t like to do it!), she mostly eats finger foods.

She can hold a beaker and drink (she stopped having a bottle around 18 months when she decided she no longer wanted it).

Physically, Audrey definitely suffers from low muscle tone. She is extremely flexible and started bum shuffling properly at Easter time. Now she is into anything and everything. She has only just started to show interest in standing and it is a million miles away from the stiff standing typical children attempt. She is pushing onto her feet, with us holding her under her arms and can stand for a second before wobbling out of it. It still feels like a huge step forward, walking is the next big thing to master… the day that I can buy her shoes will be a great day indeed 🙂

   
 

Passing the time

Time is a funny thing. If you have 10 minutes to get ready and leave the house it feels like a ridiculous rush, but 10 minutes waiting for a bus feels like forever.

I’ve been pondering the passing of time a little lately because of Audrey. It’s well known amongst those of us raising a child with Down Syndrome, that things take longer. Whether it’s growing (Audrey wears age 12-18 months, but she is almost 2) or learning (she’s still not mobile and only has a few words).

It’s funny how often with a child (of any kind) that small pockets of time feel like forever. Phases of teething or fussiness or not sleeping… Often these things last a few days or a week, but every time I’m in the thick of a new phase, I think it’s going to last forever! I literally have to keep reminding myself (by repeating a sort of mantra; “it’s only a phase” or “this too shall pass”!). Do I get my flair for the dramatic from my mother? Ooh she loves a bit of drama (even if she says she doesn’t). Who knows? But when we hit a bump in the road, I hit panic mode. Worrying she’ll never sleep through the night again or never eat a breadstick again or never self-settle for a nap etc. In reality, you might get 7 mornings of 5am starts, but then you might get another 7 of 6.30am-ers, who knows?

On the whole, we have a pretty good girl on our hands. One that does self-settle and does sleep through; 99% of the time. She’s very loving, easy-going and eats well. And although these little phases feel long, but realistically pass by quickly, Audrey just isn’t growing up very fast. So we also have the flip side of time passing very slooooowly.

This is magnified by her peers. The gap is wider than ever now that toddlers younger than Audrey have more words and can walk confidently. It’s all very well when we are at home with Audrey in our ‘bubble’; in our bubble she’s a genius. We cheer like crazies every time she gets a motor skill spot on, every time she attempts to stand (she’s pretty far from standing, but she is just starting to push up onto her feet if we hold her under her arms), we look at each other filled with pride when she says and signs ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’. Audrey gives us many reasons to feel proud.

We have just been to stay with friends who have a daughter 3 months younger than Audrey and this made her slow progression all the more obvious. We stepped out of the bubble. I mean, I had Audrey out in my arms when this child was still growing in her mummy’s tummy and yet, here she is saying all our names, running to collect whatever colour ball she is told to… Even my husband admitted a “pang” and hey, it’s only natural to get those feelings, how can we not?

What I have realised is how my sadness has shifted since Audrey’s birth. It’s no longer “Why us? This is so unfair”, now it’s all about her. We were not unlucky to have a child with Down Syndrome, but Audrey is unlucky to have it affect her life in a negative way. Because it’s not all kisses and cuddles (ok, 90% of our day is I guess), but it’s a life faced with “disability”. Which is still a bit of a dirty word for us, but it’s true that she doesn’t have the same level of ability as her peers or even those younger than her and that sucks.

What I took away from our visit with our friends, was that Audrey and Ivy should have been running around together, playing games, holding hands, chattering away… But instead Audrey was bum-shuffling as best she could and Ivy was from time to time upsetting her with dangerous (loving) cuddles! She kept squishing her older friend who is much smaller than her. And yes, I felt a pang of jealousy that Audrey couldn’t do all these simple things her younger friend can, but I didn’t feel bad for us, I didn’t feel upset that we had been dealt a bad hand, I just thought how it sucked for Audrey. And the only way I could feel good about it was to think; one day they will be great friends. One day they will hold hands and run around together and Audrey will teach Ivy a little something about being different and being patient and hopefully we can all laugh about the “death cuddles” and Audrey can have a go at flooring Ivy with a cuddle of her own and we’ll all have a good chuckle at how time has finally flown and how grown up our kids are!

  

Does size matter?

So, people are always interested in your child’s age for some reason. It’s the height of small talk and will inevitably lead to some comment on size and developmental milestones (“Is she walking?” Etc).

I’m interested to know if mums of “typical” children ever feel like a comment on their child’s size is a criticism – if it ever makes you feel like you’re doing a bad job?

You see, Audrey is small. The last time she was weighed, she was travelling around the 9th curve on the Down syndrome chart. For those of you who don’t know, people with DS generally grow slower and are smaller than typical people. So the 9th on the DS chart is smaller than the 9th on the typical chart. 

She is 22 months old, wearing mostly size 9-12 months (just moving to 12-18). So basically she’s the size of a one year old and is nearly two. This means people are usually quite surprised by her age or that they guess her age and are way off. In the early days I definitely felt like I was to blame. It was my breast milk feeding her and I so wanted to make her grow big and strong, but she just kept slowly crawling up the lower curves. She was refluxy, so it was tricky getting her to gain weight, but once we started her on solids, she gained some good chunk. Unfortunately she was still weeny and yeah, it’s great to be petite if you’re a lady, so I’m sure this won’t be an issue in time, but right now, whenever I meet people (bus, supermarket queue…) and they say “Ahh, she must be about 10 months?” and I have to say; “Well, no, actually she’s 22 months”, I feel uncomfortable about it. I feel like they are wondering why on earth is this kid so small? And it’s often followed by the question “Was she premature?” and then I have to say “No, actually she was 6 days late”. Queue another surprised look.

Audrey’s size has skewed my idea of what size a baby should be, so I can’t really enter into the guessing game when meeting a new baby, because I have no idea what age to go for. In fact, how does everyone else know the average size of a 10 month old?! I didn’t know pre-Audrey and I certainly don’t know now. And why do I think that big bouncing baby = successful mother? 

She is a greedy piglet and we feed her a lot. In fact it was Audrey’s ‘decision’ to drop her nighttime bottle in favour of a snack! Ha. 

Anyway, if you meet someone and enter into the small talk of baby age, please try not to be overly shocked by their answer (whether the baby seems tiny or huge to you), either way, I’m sure the mummy won’t be thrilled that you think their child is mahoosive/minuscule! Thanks!

Audrey with a (giant!) teddy and her friend Edith (over a year younger than her!)….

  

A day in the life

So I may have said this before, but having a cute kid with lots of hair and glasses is like stepping out with a celebrity. She gets so much attention. 

Today this is roughly how our day panned out…

9am: off out to catch a bus to our group for babies with special needs. See bus, do an enthusiastic sign for “bus”, wave the bus goodbye and see smiling faces on the passengers who have witnessed the joy at the event.

(We had at this point, just missed our actual bus, so we popped off to pick up a coffee from a favourite local trendy place).

9.15am: wave at beardy man in queue, get a wave back. Marvel at pastry treats behind glass (“Wow!”). Wave at everyone and anyone, receive wave back from man that Mummy had incorrectly pre-judged as grumpy.

9.20am: back at bus stop. See dog, sign “dog” and attempt to reach the dog from the sling position. Mummy thanks the man for stopping. Drunk man passes and compliments Audrey’s “bins”.

9.30am: get on our bus. Wave at people out the window, dance when the bus is stopped in traffic and the engine sounds like music (to Audrey’s ears).

9.35am: bus stops for a while by the shopping mall. Wave at man who isn’t looking until Mummy points out a willing participant who is watching from the bus stop. Waving back and forth is fun, but starts to get a bit uncomfortable once we are stopped there for a while. Mummy looks in opposite direction.

9.40am: motion of bus too much, fall asleep on Mummy and miss a dog that gets on the bus and sits right by us.

10am: arrive at reception for baby group, bum shuffle to the centre of the room, wave and say “Hi Daddy!” to the two ladies in reception. Throw ball.

10.03am: enter room for Early Stages group, greet all nursery nurses with a wave and “Hi!”, see tent filled with lights and say “Wow!”.

10.03-11.30am: greet any arrivals with a wave. Play at every station, but not for too long, lots of bum shuffling to do. Successfully make a choice at singing time (choosing is hard, Mummy advised offer row row and it’s a no brainer). Enthusiastically take part in all songs, clap and say “Yeah!” at the end of each one. Mummy beams with pride.

11.30am: have lunch. Make lots of yummy noises and copy speech and language therapist when she mimes rubbing her tummy. Everyone marvels at the signing.

12pm: bum shuffle over to the mirror and amuse everyone with babbling. Say what sounds like “Hi ladies!”. Leave with Mummy, wave bye bye and blow big kisses!

12.10pm: wave at girl at bus stop, who waves back and I think remembers us from last week.

12.20pm: get on bus, lady sits next to us and chatters at Mummy, wave to lady. Lady compliments eyelashes (Audrey’s, no one cares about Mummy’s anymore), marvels at Audrey’s old lady name.

12.30pm: fall asleep.

1.30pm: wake up, surprised to find we are on another bus. Stare at lady next to us as she has amazing sunglasses and a crazy hat on. Blow her a kiss.

2pm: arrive to play in waiting room ahead of eye test. Wave to everyone in room.

2.05pm: have to look at a light and some tiny toys, do ok, but not thrilled about it. Have eye drops and cry. Lady says Audrey really looks like Mummy when she is about to cry. Hmmm. Wave goodbye to lady as if she is a best friend and not the mean lady who put drops in eyes.

2.20pm: more crying in waiting room as older child knocks down a tower of bricks. Smiles and clapping once Mummy sings.

2.40pm: more eye test annoyance. Shake hands with eye lady. Lots of wriggling and noises of discontent. Eat rice cake to recover.

3pm: bus home, not feeling the best. Lots of thumb sucking and cuddling with Mummy.

3.30pm: in the shops. Lady comes to compliment glasses. Give her a smile and wave despite feeling under the weather.

4pm: more waving in the supermarket, lots of comments about those lovely rosy cheeks (ezcema!).

4.15pm: get home, play with toys and have some down time after all that waving.

The end.

No photos taken today, but this was last week skipping radio channels for our daily dance party…

  

Update: here she is today. Red cheeks and all:

  

Friends and Family

I’ve read blog posts where mummies (of children with DS) have said “you certainly learn who your friends are” (after a Down’s Syndrome diagnosis), so I just wanted to write a post in praise of our friends (and family).

Because we certainly learned who our friends were… and they were exactly who we thought they were. 

Lots of worries flashed through my mind in those first weeks of Audrey’s life. And one of those worries was that some people may not want to see us anymore, because our child had been born with special needs. I feel like an idiot as I type that now, but at the time it was something I genuinely  thought. I worried people would feel awkward having to say she’s cute (when really they would be looking at a face that just screamed Down Syndrome and therefore ugly) and that they wouldn’t be that interested in visiting her. 

Shall I enlighten you as to how our friends reacted?

Well, let’s see… EVERYONE wanted to see her. They were all interested and positive and supportive and… I suspect exactly as friends are when any baby was born, but it felt like they were extra in love, extra supportive.

Maybe this is just how people are when a baby is born (I have no comparison to a “typical” baby), but with Audrey it was like we had made a little celebrity. Friends went out of their way to shower her with love.
Of course it is an unwritten rule that when you see someone’s baby you have to say they are beautiful or cute or some positive adjective, even if the baby looks like a wrinkled old man or yoda. But you don’t have to say you love them. I didn’t expect other people to love my baby, but they did. They loved her. And they were wonderful at showing it and saying it. Not just through gifts of clothes or toys (although we were well and truly showered), but through visits, texts, emails, gifts of food (for us), lots of help, support and lots of gushing about Audrey. Over compensating? It didn’t feel like that. Honestly.

And as she’s grown, people haven’t shyed away or avoided contact, they’ve thrown their arms open to give the B-W family (but mostly Audrey), a massive hug. 

Why on earth did I expect any different? 

Ted are I are both blessed with an excellent bunch of school mates who still make an effort to hang out, as well as lots of cool university friends, Brighton friends, work friends and now NCT (antenatal class) friends, all of whom have been great. 

I have so many positive friend moments that play through my mind… Becs coming with me to hold may hand through the scan that discovered Audrey wanted to get out, the tearful hushed conversation with my brother as I explained why we had struggled to confirm her name, the dreaded tearful phone calls to Claire and Mary the morning after she was born, which were met with declarations of instant love. Unconditional love. Katie and Claire standing with me when the doctor confirmed Audrey’s heart was fine and the tears flowed again… I’ll stop there as I can’t name check everyone and I don’t want anyone to feel left out!

The unconditional love is the key. No one was planning to love her only if she was cute. Or only if she could walk at 12 months. Or grow up to be a genius. 

They love Audrey because she is a little piece of us, their friends. Oh and she’s awesome.

Here’s a little dig through the archives for Audrey pictures with friends and family…

   
                  

Keeping it real…

Ok, so amongst the Instagram pics of Audrey grinning up from our everyone-seems-to-have Ikea rug, what else is going on…?

Let me tell you – puke. Poop. Snot. Eye goo. Worry. Tears. Exhaustion. 

Audrey has been ill this week and I’m currently in the thick of it (well no, that was probably more 2am when she woke about 40 mins after I’d just given her cuddles and Calpol and it took me an hour to rock her to sleep…), but right now I am filled with cold, breathing through my mouth, with Audrey slumped on me asleep, covered in crusty snot, with laboured breathing and a dry pouty little mouth.  I am tired and worried and I would like nothing more than to have a good cry. But instead, I’ll keep cuddling and I’ll keep shushing and saying “Mummy’s here, it’s ok”.

You might have thought the low point of the week was Audrey projectile-vomiting porridge and blueberries all over us both and that trusty rug, but no, today is definitely lower… Because today Audrey has slept all day. At the tiny points where she’s been awake (nappy change, sip of water, doctor prodding), she’s been lethargic and whiny and her eyes are like slits. I feel so utterly helpless and just want to rewind to yesterday when she perked up and wouldn’t stop waving to the receptive young couple behind me in the cafe. This is horrible. Seriously, how do mothers do this? It’s so horrible having an ill child. I adore the extra cuddles and I love the accessibility of her tasty forehead… But I’d do anything to see my bright little monkey again. The claps, the high fives, the constant request for food (signing “more”), come back little Audrey boo, I miss you!

I also (stupidly), feel like I jinxed things. I kept telling people how losing my job wasn’t so bad – being at home with Audrey is fun. And then this happens and I feel like I’m dealing with a newborn again – not knowing what to do for the best, second guessing her needs and hoping a cuddle solves all. Meanwhile, it’s one of the sunniest weeks we’ve had and I’m glued to the sofa.

Funny how each tiny phase feels like an age… I know that by next week I’ll have those smiles back, but for now, it feels like we will be ill forever and that little Audrey has lost her spark 😦



The power of love

From the age of 4 to 16, I lived next door to a family who had a son with Down’s Syndrome. I would say the overall feeling I remember when coming into contact with him (his name was Wayne), was: fear. To me, he was a giant man-baby, who had large, rough, dry, twisted hands that he would want you to touch. I did not want to spend time with Wayne. His mother, Betty, was (still is) a friendly lady with a cheerful voice and she was devoted to her family. She had two sons, (the younger was married with children), but Wayne remained at home, as intellectually he was possibly at the stage of a 2 or 3 year old and he was still in nappies (he was in his 20s/30s).

Sometimes my mum would send me next door to pay Betty some ‘catalogue money’ (she ordered things for us through her catalogues, god this was the 80s/90s, but sounds like the dark ages!). I distinctly remember that Wayne was more often than not, sat with large headphones on, listening to “his music”. As I grew older, I felt sadness for Betty. Her husband died at some point during our time there and so she was alone caring for Wayne.

My mum is a one for repeating stories, so I’ve heard 100s of times how when Wayne was born, the doctors left him on the side and told Betty he was like jelly, that he wasn’t worth her bothering with… she should call an institution to take him away… and how she held him and told them they were wrong, he was her baby and she was keeping him. She loved him instantly and unconditionally. I always thought it was amazing that she dealt with this ‘burden’ so well. I recall she had someone come for respite care – so she could go to bingo or just have time to herself and it just seemed like such a rough deal. Rough that as an old woman (old to me), she still had a ‘child’ to look after.

I also heard stories of how she had taken him out of a bad nursery because they had just dumped him in a corner and not worked on his development at all. Of how she had been advised to have a second child quickly so that Wayne would have a sibling to learn from. And how he had exceeded expectations on many fronts – because doctors had said he would never walk and also that he would die at a very young age. Wayne actually died a few years ago and he was in his 50s. I suppose it wasn’t that long after that Audrey was born. Betty was keen to meet her and I was really keen for her to, too. It’s funny how you become part of this club. Someone new joins the club and you’re so excited to welcome them, but you know from their perspective it’s not a club they wanted to join… But it won’t be long before they’ll be the ones excited to welcome a new member.

When Betty did meet Audrey, she kept saying how she was ‘high functioning’ and definitely more advanced than Wayne at that age etc. It was very sweet of her and of course I’m pleased to hear it, but I realise how it doesn’t matter. Of course I don’t want Audrey to be in nappies in her 50s and I want her to be able to hold a grown up conversation – in fact I have very high expectations for her… but…. I also know that no matter what, we will love her and be happy having her around. She is amazing and a joy to us. Just as Wayne was to Betty. I know she was happy to have had him. Her life was not the burdened one I imagined from the outside.

So the next time you see a mother or father dealing with their child with special needs, don’t feel sorry for them. Don’t think they are burdened. Just remember, there is love there and love is a very powerful thing. Huey Lewis knew it. I know it. Now you do too.

The elephant in the room

So here’s a question for you, do you tell people your baby/child has Down’s Syndrome (obviously you don’t if they don’t have DS!)?

It’s certainly not my opening line when meeting new people, but I do tend to casually throw it in there just to clear the air and acknowledge the obvious.

Even though Audrey looks less and less “downsie” (our choice of phrase, one used to be cute, not offensive) to me everyday, I do know that she has the characteristics and strangers will either clock this and know, or at least wonder.

We actually do sometimes start to think it’s not obvious, but then we look at other babies with DS and she is quite clearly in their crew. It’s funny because it means we often look on other babies with extra “ahhhs” because they look like our baby.

Our first experience of a stranger actually acknowledging Audrey’s DS before we’d said anything was a barmaid (early 20s?) in a pub we were celebrating my Nan’s 95th birthday in. She just said “Down’s Syndrome babies are extra cute aren’t they?” And to be honest I felt a little surprised for a second (only because I hadn’t heard anyone just come our and say it like that) but I just smiled, said yes and moved on. But it did feel strange. Oh so they can see it…!

Another time, we were at a friends’ BBQ where lots of families we didn’t know were milling about. A child of around 6 was playing near Audrey and asked me why her tongue was sticking out. I just said she was dribbly and teething and it was just something she does. But at the time I had a little moment where I realised I was so used to Audrey’s tongue sticking out, it hadn’t occurred to me that this might be ‘something different’ about her that others would notice.

One of many strange worries I had in the early days, was of someone recognising her DS and saying something very unpleasant. Perhaps asking me if she was ‘retarded’ or a ‘mong’, neither of which have cropped up at this early stage. As time went on, I did start to chastise myself (“What decade did you think we are living in?!?”), but actually had a mum of a 3 year old boy with DS confirm someone did once ask if he was a ‘mongoloid’. I was stunned, but she said it was a very old lady and she was actually very nice, she just used a dated word and meant no offence.

In our short 15 months in this world, we haven’t had a lot of negativity to deal with. In the early days, there were some people who struggled with what to say and made some comments that were… Awkward… But mostly well-meaning and not nasty. People just saying how ‘devastated’ we must be or how ‘awful’ the news was… Which, once you’ve moved on and embraced the baby you’ve been given, is not they way to describe the happy event of having a baby.

My uncle also had a classic line… When we were discussing sleep and night feeds (which every one is obsessed with when making baby small talk), I referred to our NCT group and said we were lucky as some of the babies were waking a lot more than Audrey… To which he said (somehow thinking I was taking about a group of babies with DS and that some of them were ‘worse'(?) than Audrey); “Oh yes, some of them can be very disabled, can’t they?”. Yeesh.

In fact that was probably the main crux of any early negativity – misunderstanding that 90% of the time I was entering into a discussion about babies in general, not specifically babies with DS. Telling my mum we had started baby sign; “But she’s not deaf, I know some of them can be, but you can tell she can hear”. Cue discussion about baby sign being useful for all babies.

Mostly I worry that it my own insecurities/defensiveness that makes me read innocent comments as negative. When people ask about the possibility of us having baby number 2, I always feel as though they are surprised when we say we do want more children or I feel the question is worded as “So do you think you’ll have any more children?” and the end of the sentence (that is unspoken) is “…after what you’ve been through with this one?”. Yes, I’m reading into this too much!

One of the strangest places to encounter negativity (which was really just someone being honest, but made me uncomfortable), surprisingly came from another DS mama. I was at our pre-school DS group when Audrey was probably only around 5 months old and I was keen to meet a lady who had chosen a nursery near us for her little boy with DS and I wanted to know what the nursery was like etc. She came to the group with her new baby boy (without DS) as her oldest was at nursery that day.

She told me I was lucky Audrey kept her tongue in her mouth (things have changed a bit since then!), because the tongue hanging out “did not look good”. And then she told me how they had the amniocentesis for their second child as they “definitely didn’t want another child with DS”. Hmmm, I think I said nothing at that point. I asked about the nursery and she said they picked it because they had lived on the same street… so that wasn’t the glowing reference for the place I was hoping for. I haven’t actually seen her since, but it was certainly interesting meeting someone who felt that having a child with DS meant they had to take screening that bit further to ensure they didn’t have another. Ted and I have said that if we are lucky enough to have another baby, it’s probably not worth bothering with the screening as what difference would it make? We wouldn’t abort and although a bit of warning might help us prepare, we had no warning with Audrey and that turned out fine! Ha, well, better than fine – awesome!

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Spread a message with more ups than downs..?

Hayley from Downs Side Up shared this article on Facebook;

http://america.aljazeera.com/opinions/2014/10/down-s-behind-thesmiles.html

It’s a piece by David M Perry and it’s about raising awareness of Down’s Syndrome through cute pictures and how that does little to dispel the “they’re such happy people” myth and also fails to help raise awareness of some of the real challenges people with DS face.

Ok, so I couldn’t stop thinking about this article because I am 100% a spreader of this “cuteness porn”, but I have no desire to spread a message of sunshine, lollipops and rainbows… In fact my mother actually bought a t-shirt for Audrey when she was first born that said “Smile and be happy” on it and I absolutely lost the plot (hormones!) and made her take it back. I couldn’t think of anything worse for any child to wear (mega cheesy), but even more against it for Audrey – she’s not a poster girl for a constant cheerful disposition!

The thing is, what I think new-mums are looking for, and what I know I was/am looking for, is “inspiration porn”. All I wanted to see (and mostly still do) is that children with DS functioned happily in ‘normal’ families. Actually, no, better than that; I want to see glamorous families! Trendy families! Rock n roll!

I appreciate that it is important to spread a message to the world that people with DS are complex and emotional, that they have sad days, bad times, struggles… but that’s not necessarily the best starting point for awareness.

The leaflet I was passed when Audrey was born had that piece about Holland in it (which was actually lovely) and a lot of overwhelming health issue stuff that I just didn’t want to think about. I still don’t.

Awareness needs to be spread to;

New mums and dads
Prospective mums and dads
Friends
Family
Neighbours
Parents of children your kid will go to school with
That person you pass on the street
Ok, basically everyone.

They need to know that someone with DS is loved by a family of ‘typical’ people and that they aren’t scary or ugly… That they aren’t an alien race of beings… They are human and they fit into families of all shapes and sizes and do ‘normal’ things. They need to feel comfortable around someone with DS and this should lead to better job opportunities, inclusion and understanding.

Personally I don’t think the cuteness factor takes away from the bigger issues… It can be used as a tool to lure people in to find out more, surely? Every mum I follow on Instagram will have lured me in with a cute baby video or picture, but that’s just one part of their story and soon I’m following them through operations, sleep studies, second babies, sleepless nights, developmental milestones… We all share in the frustrations and the achievements, the ups and the downs. I know I’m seeking this stuff out, but anyone could be struck by a cute image or video and end up finding out more.

Macy Makes My Day (check them out on Instagram), is about a little girl with DS and her family… I found this account after a friend told me about this amazing inspirational family and what a cool account it was (the friend had no connection to the DS community, but was following Macy’s story). After following Macy, I found the DS hashtags that led me to countless blogs and IG accounts, all of which have taught me a lot about Down’s Syndrome, the good stuff and the bad.

Phew. I feel a bit better now I’ve got that off my chest.

Please excuse me whilst I spread some more cuteness for #DSAM2014

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