My name is Aoife. I’m twenty-seven, engaged to Craig, and a proud mammy to our beautiful little girl, Croia. She’s nineteen months old now, and she has completely changed how I see the world.
Craig and I met in July 2018, and from the very beginning, it just felt right. We clicked instantly, as if we had known each other forever. I used to tell myself it was too good to be true, but it wasn’t, he was simply my person. We moved in together almost straight away and, a year later, he asked me to marry him on the day of Croia’s christening.
I found out I was pregnant on May 12, 2019. We’d been out the night before, but the next morning something felt different. I took a test, and when those little lines appeared, I just stared at them in disbelief. Craig was grinning from ear to ear while I sat there trying to take it in. Once it hit me, the tears came happy, grateful tears. We were having a baby.
I loved every bit of my pregnancy. The kicks, the movements, the growing bump every moment felt magical. But at our first scan, things took an unexpected turn. The doctor paused and told us she wasn’t happy with the shape of the baby’s head. She asked us to wait outside for a second opinion. We sat there for what felt like forever, surrounded by other smiling couples, while my heart sank. When we finally went back in, we were told there was extra fluid on the baby’s neck, a possible marker for Down Syndrome.
At first, I was shocked. I was only twenty-five, and I didn’t think it could happen to someone my age. But as Craig and I talked, we both came to the same place, this baby was ours, and no diagnosis would ever change that. We would love her completely.
A week later, the test results confirmed there was a high chance our baby had Down Syndrome and that she was a girl. I cried tears of love, not fear. From that moment, she was our Croia.
Still, I won’t lie, it wasn’t easy. My mental health took a hit. I blamed myself for things beyond my control. Would she be okay? Would people be kind? My grandmother, wise as ever, reminded me, “God only gives special babies to special parents.” I’ve carried those words with me ever since.
At 28 weeks, another scan showed Croia had a blockage between her stomach and bowel. It meant she’d need surgery soon after birth. When my waters broke early at 34 weeks, I was terrified, but ready. Croia arrived by C-section, tiny but fierce, screaming her way into the world. The moment she looked into my eyes, everything else disappeared. She was perfect.
She had her surgery at just five days old. Seeing her hooked up to tubes broke me, but she fought through it with the same strength she still shows today. We finally brought her home after four long weeks in the hospital.
Postnatal depression hit hard after that. I felt empty and guilty. But talking helped, to Craig, to my doctor, to anyone who would listen. I realized I had to heal for her. You can’t pour from an empty cup.
Croia has taught me more than anyone ever has. She’s determined, independent, and full of light. Every milestone she hits fills me with pride. People told us what she “might not” do, but she’s already proving them wrong.
I wouldn’t change a thing about her. But I will spend my life changing the world for her, to make sure people see her for who she is, not for a diagnosis.
Croia, if you ever read this, know you are loved beyond measure. Use your smile to change the world, my girl, but never let the world change your smile.
