My sweet love,
I see you. I’ve always seen you.
I saw you when we told you we were having a baby. I saw the look of confusion and excitement when the facts hit you that you wouldn’t be the youngest in our family anymore.
I saw you when we left the doctor’s office that day we found out the test results had been wrong and your baby sister was diagnosed with Down syndrome. I saw the fear in your eyes of not fully understanding what that meant.
I saw you watching me on the couch for the next six weeks, wondering if I was ever going to be happy again. I saw you when you came and sat with me, letting me cry without asking any questions.
And when I pulled out of that depression, I saw your eyes brightened as a reflection of mine. I saw you get stronger in those months as your fear turned to faith, and we watched God work miracles.
I saw you the day your sister was born. I saw the look of questioning mingled with the unmistakable look of pride. I saw you clean and cook and be the biggest helper out of selflessness and love.
And I saw you when your sister became the center of everyone’s focus. I saw you look down when someone said your name wrong. I saw you turn away when others crowded around the baby, I saw your once bright personality dim in the noise. I saw you shrink back until you felt invisible. Therapies, doctor appointments, visits from friends. You tried to fit in where you’d always had a place. I saw you.
Now I want you to see me. See me watching you repeatedly do a flip or cartwheel. See me smiling at you when you make your sister laugh again and again. See me hugging you and telling you ‘I love you’ for the hundredth time that day because I feel so inadequate as your mom. See me crying when I know you’re crying. See me trying so hard to pull you out into the light where you belong. See me praying over you for your purpose which is directly related to the one thing that makes you feel unworthy. See me checking in on you every night before we go to sleep to pray over you one more time.
See me loving you like crazy because you’re my typical child who is anything but ordinary.
The shadows are colder than the spotlight is hot. I’ve seen you peek around the presence of your older sister, only to be thrust aside by your younger. But just because you’re not in the spotlight, doesn’t mean that you have to stay in the dark.
Because I’m your mama.
And I will always see you.