I stared at the face of our third baby girl, propped up on my knees as I sat in the hospital bed. We were face to face, and all I could see in that little face were the droopy ears, almond-shaped eyes, tiny nose, and the tongue that wouldn’t quite stay in her tiny mouth. She looked like a baby Yoda, and I couldn’t seem to see past that. I just saw Downs syndrome. “Lord, give me love for her. I need to be her mom. Let me see her,” was my tearful plea.

After we were settled in Fargo, I had connected with the doctor who had been our family doctor when I lived in the area as a little girl. Dr. Esh was kind and considerate, with a quiet gentle bedside manner. Now I was a twenty-two year old expectant mother with something on my mind, “I never…

I stopped dead in my tracks, eyes wide, as I took in the sight of my four-year-old daughter, hair hacked off just below her jaw line with stray remnants of her beautiful long golden brown locks hanging as strings that she had missed with the scissors.  “Oh, Maggie, your hair!” I wanted to cry.  “Sorry, Mama,” was all she said.  Hazel eyes looked into mine.  I read them clearly, expectation, a hint of fear, and a challenge.  Would I bring her along on Serrah’s  third birthday outing to the hair dresser and out for ice cream?  I had no choice.  “I wanted a haircut too,” Maggie’s usually boisterous voice was lowered to a hoarse whisper.  “I can see that.  What am I going to do with you?  Maggie Ann, you know better.”  It would seem her dubious plan was hatched.  I shook my head in disbelief, “Alright, girls, get your…