The moment I learned I was pregnant, I froze, silently gazing at the test, unable to believe what I was seeing. One word “pregnant” and my whole life changed. I thought about everything. Boy or girl? Would I be a good mom? What if I messed up? I pictured birthday parties, scraped knees, prom, sleepovers, graduation.
I had nine months to dream it all. Pregnancy wasn’t too hard. Some nausea, heartburn, tired days. But all the checkups went well. Every ultrasound looked perfect. I always asked extra questions, about her limbs, the fluid, her neck.
They always said everything looked fine. At 39 weeks, something felt off. I was dizzy at work, had a pounding headache. The doctor sent me in for an ultrasound and a stress test. I waited in that hospital room, feeling nervous. A deep sense of dread settled over me, I just knew something wasn’t right. When the nurse returned, she told me I was being admitted to the hospital.
The medical team found fluid buildup in the baby’s lungs and stomach area. Suddenly I was in the operating room for an emergency C-section. I held my husband’s hand so tight. And then, we heard her cry. Our little girl.
That first cry was everything. I felt joy I can’t even explain. But then someone said, “She has characteristics of Down syndrome.” Just like that, joy cracked open into fear. Later that night, a geneticist came in. She was cold and direct. She said yes, there were signs.
She’d run bloodwork. She said kids like mine were loved, some even called them “the pet of the school.” That didn’t help. The life I had pictured crumbled. I cried for everything I thought she wouldn’t do sleepovers, honor roll, prom, first kisses, heartbreaks.
In my mind, her life was torn up like a room hit by a storm. I sat in the middle, surrounded by dreams that no longer made sense. For three months I stayed in that space. Sad, angry, scared. Then slowly, something changed.
I looked at her one day really looked and saw her eyes, her smile. She’d been there all along. I hadn’t lost her.
I had lost myself. That’s when I began to let go of the guilt and grief. I started seeing her for who she was. Her struggle to crawl didn’t make me sad, it made me proud.
Her strength amazed me. It took time, but I stopped making it about me. Her journey is hers. And watching her live it has taught me more than I ever imagined. I’m still not always happy. But I am full of love. And I wouldn’t trade Felicity for anything.
