Erin Gaskins and daughter Eslea

VALDOSTA — On Sept. 21, 2010, Erin Kelly Gaskins of Hahira gave birth to her second child, a beautiful baby girl. At a time when she should have been rejoicing, she was “stricken with grief” when she and husband Jason were told that their daughter had Down Syndrome. It would be an emotional roller coaster of four weeks before she reached the point of acceptance.

“Since that time, I have not only grown to adore my baby girl, I have learned to accept her differences,” said Gaskins, a counselor at Valdosta High School. “… through her I have learned that all individuals are important and bring joy into the world.”

Erin is sharing her story because March 21 is World Down Syndrome Day, the day daughter Eslea (Pronounced: S-lee, Meaning: Reserved of God) turns 6 months old.

 “Did you know that the face of Down Syndrome is changing?,” she asked. “What society and the medical community once thought about this group of citizens is no longer true. … The children being born today have such infinite possibilities for growth and development that never occurred before. Yet still, parents like myself, are overcome with fear at the possibility of raising a child with special needs. … what a blessing a child born today with Down Syndrome can be in a family.”

Erin shares Elsea’s birth story on her blog at www.acrazybeautifullove.blogspot.com. Here are excerpts, in her own words, describing how raising a child with special needs can affect a new parent:

“Jason and I spent time laughing and enjoying the excitement of having another little girl to raise. Even having to be admitted into the hospital at midnight struck us as hilarious. Various couples lined up like ducks walking to the maternity ward with our overnight bags in tow. We spent hours laughing in the hospital room talking about what it was going to be like with Eslea. How beautiful she would be. The joy she would bring us.

“Finally, the time came. It was 9 a.m. and they were wheeling me down to surgery. I remember being scared. Having to go in there alone and not being able to shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. After what felt like hours, they let Jason in and I relaxed. It was time. It all happened so quickly. Before I knew it, the NICU nurse was standing next to me showing me my baby. I remember telling Eslea hello and watching her eyes look towards my voice. I remember having my picture taken. Then she was gone. And I cried. I missed her. I didn’t even get a chance to hold her.

“Because of the pain medication after surgery, much of the rest of the day went by in a whirl. But some very distinct events remain in focus. The first is the sound of the clock on the wall reminding me of the time that was passing without me even seeing my baby girl. The next was my husband coming in and out of the room to show me pictures on the camera. I remember him stopping to watch my face because he knew what I would see. He said that he saw it, too. But … it couldn’t be true. That was not my daughter. Not the one I imagined. Time kept ticking. I have yet to meet Eslea.

“Six hours after her birth, the NICU nurse arrives. Jason and I were alone in the room. I knew what was coming. The clock kept ticking. Although I was yet (un)aware … that nurse, Cathy, was already one of Eslea’s angels. Cathy began by explaining that Eslea was receiving oxygen because her lungs had some fluid, and she was having difficulty breathing. She also told us that a murmur was found in our baby’s heart and most likely she had a defect … a cardiologist was reviewing the test. And then she paused … and said … that our baby did ‘show characteristics of Down syndrome … but …. she is perfect … and the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.’

“The clocked stopped. The room stopped. All I could hear was the sound of my own breath.

“Finally, Cathy’s words broke the time warp I was in and somehow I heard her say, ‘I know that it’s a lot to take in. It’s OK to cry. I would cry too.’ I looked up and her eyes were moist with the tears she was holding back. Time began again. And I cried.

“Fourteen hours go by and I have yet to see my baby. … I don’t care how much pain I am in, I have to see my daughter. … The NICU was empty except for one other baby and some nurses. My little girl was in the glass cube on the end. The first time I saw her, she was covered in IVs, monitors and bandages. The nurse took her out and handed her to me … and I knew. I saw it. I saw what my husband already knew but was afraid to form into words. Eslea’s eyes gave it away. My husband stared at me, waiting to see my response. But I didn’t have one. What he couldn’t see was the thoughts in my head. At that moment, I was thinking that this was not my daughter. I did not know this child. This is not the little girl I had planned on. This was not the little girl I had carried for 39 weeks. They were wrong. They asked if I wanted to nurse her, and I said no. I wanted to go back to my room. So I did.

“I have cried a lot since my Eslea’s birth. But none so much as in those first 24 hours. That first night after she was born, I remember feeling numb. I remember waking up at 3 a.m. and crying. I couldn’t stop. My crying woke Jason up and he crawled into that hospital bed with me. He held me while I cried and cried. During those first 24 hours, I mourned my child. I mourned the little girl I was expecting. I yearned for her. I ached for her knowing that she would never come. … The one I had spent 39 weeks getting to know and rubbing her little head as it was pressed in my ribs. This was not her.

“But, through all that, I must have loved her. Because although I couldn’t believe that it was my daughter, there was an unseen force that kept pulling me back to that NICU time and time again. There was something inside me that made me want to try nursing and was proud when she took to it so easily. When her sister came to visit, I anxiously awaited Emma to lay eyes on her sister for the first time. I worried needlessly because for Emma, it was love at first sight.

“The day we left the hospital, I was still numb. It didn’t seem real. I had to leave without my true baby. I just wanted to be alone and mourn the child I had lost. But instead, I was going home with this new baby. A different one than I expected. One that I was ashamed of and scared of at the same time. Before I left, I expressed these concerns to Cathy. She listened for an hour as I cried and told her some of the shameful thoughts I was having. She did not judge. She had faith that with Jason and prayer, I would make it.

“I so much dreaded the process of leaving the hospital with a new baby. It was drawing too much attention to me and this new baby in my arms. The flowers, the balloons, the wheelchair. … I was so scared someone would see her. I was afraid to see the look in their eyes. The look of pity or whatever it is I thought was going to happen. We had almost made it into the car before it happened. What I dreaded. An older woman saw Eslea and said ‘she looks almost fake she is so big.’ My heart broke. That was the first of what I was afraid would be many comments made about this child … and I cried.

“But I must have loved her … because it broke my heart to think that others didn’t see the perfection that I saw. That very night I rocked her to sleep and kissed her head before putting her swaddled little body to bed.”

“Every night I prayed for just one thing … acceptance. I never once prayed for things to change. I just wanted to accept my baby. I wanted to love and adore her as I did Emma. I wanted to feel like I was her mother. Those weeks I felt a wide range of emotions, from mourning to self-pity, from hate to self-loathing.

“But I must have loved her … because every night I held her close, I rocked her to sleep and I kissed her sweet forehead before putting her swaddled body to bed.

Acceptance comes

“There did reach a point that I made a decision. I was not going to miss another second of infancy. Despite how I felt, she was a baby. A sweet-smelling, soft and juicy baby. For several nights in a row, I made myself block out my defeating thoughts and just focused on her. I smelled her. I nursed her. I rubbed her. I took in her sweet baby breath.

“And then it happened. It happened in a split second. I had placed Eslea on the changing table, and she was completely naked. I stepped back to look at her, and numbness engulfed me. Then she cried and her arms started to flail. She was scared. She wanted someone to pick her up. She wanted me, her mother. And then it happened. Exactly four weeks to the day she was born, it finally came … acceptance. I scooped her up and thanked God for her. For the first time, I told my new precious that I loved her. I whispered it over and over again into her ear. I finally saw her for HER. The same one who I spent nine months getting to know as she kicked and twisted in my belly. It was HER. There was no longer any doubt. My precious baby girl.

“That night, I did the same as so many nights before … I rocked her, I kissed her, I laid her down to sleep … yet that night, finally, I KNEW I loved her.

“Can I say that I no longer cry when it comes to Eslea? No. I still cry. I cry when I think about her future. I cry when I think about her struggles. I cry when I think about the pain I went through during her first four weeks. Yet the crying very rarely comes anymore. Now, I thank God for her every day. I smile … I laugh … and I whisper “I love you” in her ear every night.

“We all desire for our children to be happy. For so long, I thought that happiness meant she had to be ‘normal.’ I finally realized that she is not meant to be anything more then she is already. A perfect little baby with an extra chromosome. People will notice that she looks different. She may even talk different. Through her, they will learn to accept the differences in all people, and most importantly, they will learn to love her.”

Today

“It’s amazing the difference six months can make. I have realized that there is only one reason that I was so scared and depressed when I first learned about Eslea having Down syndrome … ignorance. Like most people, I did not understand what exactly it means for someone to have Down syndrome. Yet, by educating myself and meeting other parents in the area, I have learned how wrong I was and how much I still need to grow. People with Down syndrome are individuals with their own wants, needs and desires. They can graduate from high school, go to college, get married, drive cars, hold down jobs, and so much more.

“Now as I reflect back, I’m amazed at the difference of feelings I have about my sweet Eslea. … I am PROUD of her. I am proud that she is not ‘typical.’ I’m blessed that she changed my views of the world. Having children teaches us how to love. My Eslea taught me how narrow my view of the world has been. Now I know what it means to truly love everyone. Every. Single. Person.”