This piece first appeared on the St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children website as a 3-part blog series.
Guest Blogger: Laurel Youse, mother of Luke
Friday, May 8, 2015 – Part 1: Mother’s Day
I was never really any good with kids. Growing up, I rarely babysat and the times I did, I really didn’t care for it much. Once I actually figured out how to hold the baby, it was guaranteed he or she would cry. If anyone had told me when I was younger that they thought I would be a great mother, I could be certain that they were lying. As a child, I didn’t have the best role model for motherly love – frankly, my experience taught me what a mother is not. My inept maternal instinct led me to believe it was best I did not venture in to the realm of children. That was all up until the last couple of years, when everything changed.
When Scott and I married 10 years ago, our life was perfect – just the two of us. We enjoyed our carefree lives –worked hard, played hard. We did what we wanted, when we wanted. Life was good and life was simple. And then it came calling…that still, small voice, deep from within – we wanted more. It doesn’t happen for everyone, but for us it did – that parental calling – the desire to be someone more and give to someone “more.”
This Mother’s Day marks three years since I knew I was pregnant. I say “knew” because it’s true – I knew long before a test could tell me. In that instant, that sweet moment in time, I was changed – at a cellular level, I was altered. I now had a fire in my soul and an instinct to go with it.
Just as the tiny baby in my belly was growing, so too, was the love and joy quickly building in ways I had never before imagined. The moment it all became very real, that defining life moment, as I lay on an exam table at St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children and first heard the words “life-threatening,” “critical” and “heart defect.” My breath caught in a place somewhere between Heaven and Earth and I could hear my own heart beating out of my chest. Time stopped. All of it. Within mere hours every dream, every plan I had made was replaced with fear. How could I love a baby I might lose? How could I open myself to the possibility of that devastating pain? But I did – how could I NOT?
I vowed to love and protect my son – every ounce of him. In the weeks leading up to his diagnosis in utero, something within me already knew. I have no way to describe it, only that my heart was being prepared for Luke. I would love him if he were born with a syndrome, if he were born with a deformity, if he were born in any way other than what this world deems “perfect” because for me, through the eyes of his mother, he was already perfect in every way just as he was. My commitment to love him was pure and honest, and I knew it might even hurt. It has hurt. A lot.