Last night Audrey wouldn’t settle on her own, which is reasonably rare and after a cuddle and sing song with Daddy, the crying started again. So it was my turn to have a go. 

She cuddled me with one arm tucked around me, with her other hand on my hand, interweaving fingers. I told her we were holding hands and she whisper-giggled with me at the fun we were having in this dimly lit room. I rocked in the chair silently and we gazed at each other whilst playing with our hands. A moment of perfection. I could feel our love. Her face – just the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen, her gaze fully locked on my mine, looking very much like a child who is not sleepy and will not be rocked to sleep!

Yes, it crosses your mind: er, excuse me miss, we had just started a new series on Netflix, I was about to put my feet up with a glass of milk (a pregnancy heartburn must)… But at that moment I just felt such bliss at being there for her. Being her mother. 

I’m sure I bang on about this in every post, but it’s a heightened feeling when you’ve had such negative thoughts about your child and your imagined relationship in those early days. It scares me to think that a “syndrome” label made me question the love and connection I would have for my daughter, but it did.

In fact, I’ve just recently been filmed sharing thoughts and feelings after diagnosis for a short film that will hopefully help new parents. And on an email calling for more contributors, a mother with a grown up son with Down Syndrome questioned her involvement – she wouldn’t want him to see her talking negatively about his life. Which I completely understand. However, I really hope to explain to Audrey one day that the reason I’ve shared so much online (including some pretty upsetting thoughts and feelings) is that I want society to move forward and I want to take as much of the negativity away from other parents as I can. And I want her to know that it’s because of her, because of her fabulousness, that I feel so strongly about banging this drum and changing perceptions.

Of course, in an ideal world I want someone to receive the diagnosis and think; ‘Who cares?’, but I appreciate it won’t be that simple. But how about, after the initial shock/upset/confusion, you quite quickly move forward by thinking about a family you saw online…? A mother who wrote about love, beauty and fun… She showed that your life with your little one might just be how you had expected things to be pre-diagnosis; singing songs together, reading books and cuddling before bedtime, sharing in a peekaboo joke… The path is a smaller deviation from the original than you might think and the overriding fact that should help take the negativity away is: you are their parent and you will love one another no matter what life throws at you. 

I’m thinking that’s parenthood as standard though, isn’t it?