We knew before he was born Josiah would have Down Syndrome.  We were prepared, as much as anyone could be prepared.  A woman arrived on our door step when I was 6 or 7 months pregnant.  She came in with her clipboard and official looking papers.  She was from the county.  She sat down across from me.  “What are your goals for your child?” she asked. “To be born”, I replied, truly the only goal I had at the moment for him.

She encouraged me to think beyond his birth.  She helped lay the foundation for possibilities ahead.  We sketched some initial plans.  She assured me others would follow in her footsteps.  Little did I know at the time, the door to our home would quickly become a revolving one.  Or that the initial plans would bcome so labor intensive.  I’m glad I didn’t know at the time.  I might have refused.

Very shortly after Josiah was born we had visits from therapists.  He had a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a speech therapist.  They worked with him weekly. We made Tuesday morning trips to the Cleveland Sight Center and visited with more therapists there. We had homework.  We had schedules. We had charts and graphs.  We had visits to Doctors and specialists.  We had a schedule more complicated than any of us bargained for.  Josiah was an infant.  I was a homeschooling mother with 5 young children.

Here’s what those days were like.  Get up early, ensure all the kids are up, fed and dressed.  Snap, zip and/or buckle winter outerwear on the ones too young to do it for themselves. Pile everyone in the van, diaper bag, snacks and school books in tow.  Drive an hour across town to an appointment, ofen times in the snow.

“Taylor, turn to page 34 in your Math book. Work on problems 1 through 12.  Breanne, finish your English paper. Jesse, leave your sister alone.  Why is she screaming?  Would someone please check Chandler?  Is she ok?  Does she need a diaper change?   How’s Josiah?   Is he sleeping? How can he be sleeping with all this screaming? Chandler honey, we will be there soon. You have to stop crying honey.  You will wake your brother.  Would someone please hand her her juice?

Taylor I’d have to see the problem to be able to help you with it.  I’m sorry.  Could we just wait til we get to the Doctor’s office.  I can help you in the waiting room.  Leave your brother alone. What do you mean you’re hungry?  We just ate breakfast.  Check the diaper bag.  You can have some animal crackers. Don’t spill your juice.

Breanne, did you get your Reading done yet?  Stop that! You just woke up your brother. Please find the pacifier. Did it fall on the floor?  Can someone please tell me why Chandler keeps screaming?   Are you sure she doesn’t need a diaper change?”

At our destination,  I’d unload the crew, hoist the double stroller out of the trunk in the slush covered parking lot, snap Josiah in his infant carrier in the back of the stroller and buckle Chandler in her seat at the front of the stroller, throw the diaper bag across the handlebars, and walk in the building, with the older 3 children trudging along beside.

I’m sure we were a spectacle.  I’m sure people stopped and stared. I’m sure as I struggled to maneuver our stroller monstrosity through doorways and around overly crowded waiting rooms, others wondered about our family.  I tried not to think about it.  Once inside it was time to remove all the winter coats, pile them on the stroller, keep the kids entertained.  And wait. Often times we waited longer than necessary. Often times once Josiah’s name was called and all 6 of us sqeezed down the hall, we barely fit in the examination area.   Often times I was near tears.

Somehow we’d make it.  Somehow we’d get through an appointment.  Somehow, we’d get everyone back in their coats and buckled safely in the van.  I’d slink in my seat, sigh deeply and turn the key in the ignition.  Exhausted, but grateful to be done, I’d head on down the road.  The morning appointment was over.

We always had at least 45 minutes before the afternoon one began.