I had just turned 26 years old, three days earlier. Cindy was just 22.
We had been in the student ministry full-time, for about four years.
Our anticipation was through the roof. This was all new to us—The birth of our very first child.
For years we had talked about having kids. For months we had eagerly awaited it—Then came the day that Josh was born.
We were so very excited. Cindy had given birth like a champion mother. She was physically exhausted but emotionally, she was soaring in the clouds.
Her mom had finally arrived and together we relived the events of the past twenty-four hours, and shared our hopes and our dreams for the future.
Whenever we were asked—“What do you want, a boy or a girl?”
Our response was the same as nearly every other expectant parent—“It doesn’t matter as long as he or she is healthy.”
That afternoon, a few hours after Josh’s birth, the pediatrician rolled Josh into Cindy’s room. We introduced her to Cindy’s mom, made some small talk then the doctor turned her attention, and ours, to Josh.
She said, “I am not certain, we need to run some tests to confirm, but there are a few physical signs that Josh may have Down Syndrome.”
She proceeded to tell us about the “fleshiness” on the back of his neck, the Simian Crease in the palm of his hands, and the fact that he was what she called “floppy.”
She let that news sink in as she left us alone to process this new information.
He seemed absolutely perfect to us!
But he was our first, so we didn’t have anyone else to compare him too.
Needless to say, we were a collection of emotions all jumbled together—And we didn’t know what tomorrow would hold …