You would think it’s something that you — not to mention the midwives — would notice immediately. But it was two months before I was given the news that changed everything.
I was feeding my baby Xavier on New Year’s Eve in 2008 when the consultant rang. Terror pulsed through my veins as he told me: ‘Your son has Down syndrome.’
I’m not proud of my reaction that day, but I felt utter devastation. I panicked it would render him — and me — an outcast.
Less than a year before, I’d been a carefree party girl with a career as a novelist and living in London. Then came a very sobering unplanned pregnancy, discovered only days after splitting up with my boyfriend-of-sorts. And now another unexpected, far more terrifying mountain lay ahead of me.
Four-and-a-half years on, I can honestly say my initial fears were unwarranted. In fact, I think Xavier’s diagnosis made me confront my sudden motherhood head on.
I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been a good mother without it, but I was certainly jolted into action. It was as if I’d been given an electric shock that sent me headlong into parenthood in a way I’d never imagined.
