When our Samuel was ten months old, a professional acquaintance told me the story of her own scare with Down syndrome during her second pregnancy. I sat next to her at the little kindergarten-size table while our kids played at the library. Sam laid quietly on a blanket near our feet, gumming a stuffed giraffe. “We did the amnio because I just had to know. My husband and I couldn’t have handled a child with Down syndrome. Thank God the test was negative,” she told me quite matter-of-factly. I was so surprised at her remark, I didn’t know how to respond. I can’t even remember what we talked about after that, but I do remember saying goodbye about ten minutes later, scooping up my little boy, walking out to my Jeep, and crying while holding him to my chest.
