than a week before Christmas, I was extremely touched. Soon my husband arrived with Sam and Emma. He had known about it all along! What a blessing. For the rest of the day and the days that followed, I no longer felt so alone.

Late on Christmas Day, I began to have contractions. The doctor said I should head for the hospital. When we got there, the nurse who checked us in was warm and reassuring. I was terrified: I wasn't ready to have Ethan, to have the clock start ticking on his life, to lose him. The doctor on call soon arrived and determined that I was not in active labor and could go home for the night. We arrived back at the hospital about 8:00 the next morning. This was the day I would finally meet my son, but maybe also the day I'd have to say goodbye to him.

The nurse gave me an IV and after a little while I began having mild contractions. They gradually increased in severity but remained well spaced, so Josh and I were able to relax and chat. Carolyn, the nurse, spent a lot of time with us during this period, and we enjoyed getting to know her. Soon Dr. Clemans said it was time and told a nurse to call Dr. Elizabeth Keane, our pediatrician. By this time the pain was extreme. Then, suddenly, the contractions slowed down. Was he stuck? Could he breathe? Would he not be born alive? Finally, there was another contraction and he was out. It was 1:47 p.m.

The doctors and nurses huddled around Ethan right away. There were no baby sounds. I held Josh's hand and said to myself, Breathe, please breathe . . . Josh later told me that at the same time he was saying to himself, Scream, scream . . . Finally, Dr. Clemans turned to us and said that he was beautiful. That's when I was finally able to look—they were

December was an extremely difficult month. I was eager and terrified at the same time—I wanted so much to hold Ethan in my arms but was so afraid of losing him. I kept second-guessing all my decisions and was on the Internet constantly looking for answers, but I found few. I felt powerless and alone.

weighing him: 3 lbs., 9.9 ounces. They immediately gave him to me. He was beautiful—he had all his fingers and toes. He was tiny and his color was very dark—almost purple. When he breathed, his chest contracted deeply. As I held him, I kept hoping that the doctor would say that because he was breathing on his own she expected that he would do extremely well for a trisomy-18 baby. But she said nothing about how he was doing compared to other babies or what we could expect.

Since we didn't know how long Ethan would live, I wanted our family—especially Emma, Sam, and Katie—to come to the hospital as soon as possible. Josh began making phone calls—first to Kara, my sister-in-law, who was taking care of Emma, and next to his parents, who would bring Sam and Katie with them.

Soon Kara arrived with Emma. Emma was a bit apprehensive at first. She crawled up on my lap while I held Ethan and just stared at him. After a while, she held Ethan's hand and gave him a kiss. Kara was very excited to meet Ethan. Of all our relatives, she had spent the most time researching Ethan's condition and talking with me about possible outcomes. As a result, she seemed to really understand the gift that any time with him would be.

Then my mother-in-law arrived, prepared to baptize Ethan. She recited some prayers in French and placed the sign of the cross with oil on his forehead; she was so nervous she did it twice, afraid that she might have missed something the first time. Then she relaxed and became the quintessential proud grandmother, not wanting to let go once she had Ethan in her arms. By now his coloring was lighter and his breathing less labored.

Soon more family members and friends arrived. It was a room filled with joy rather than sadness. Kara snapped pictures all afternoon, recording the precious moments for us. I was delighted that so many people wanted to meet Ethan and was thrilled to show him off. He was a beautiful angel.

Around 7:00 that evening, with our room still filled with wellwishers, Ethan began getting darker and his breathing grew more labored. The room fell silent. Dr. Keane examined Ethan as I held him and said that death was probably imminent.

Tears streamed down my face. Everybody stood around my bed, including both doctors, but nobody said a word. I could not stop sobbing and kept thinking, Hang on, Ethan. I love you and am not ready to let you go.

For 45 minutes, we believed Ethan was likely to die at any minute. Then his breathing and coloring slowly began to improve. He would be with us at least a little longer. I realized that nobody could tell us exactly how much time we'd have with him.

Our last visitors left about midnight, but I stayed up most of the night—holding Ethan, watching him, talking to him. I told him about our family, how Emma had