As Christmas approached I was going-through-the-holiday-motions. I focused on telling everyone "It's a GIRL" but couldn't share the rest; I could barely tell myself the reality of the situation.
I never considered that it was okay to share.
At first I told myself that it wasn't important to say anything about her Club Feet, that no one needed to know yet.
Terribly, I was making her diagnosis an imperfection. A secret.
Looking back I couldn't imagine anyone thinking anything other than how perfect our family seemed. Wasn't it my job to put on that front: loving husband and a beautiful Christmas card filled with amazing images of our perfect son?
I was determined to keep up that image.
Somewhere deep inside I was keeping tabs on my behavior. I was hard on myself for feeling the way I did.
Was I a horrible mother?
I couldn't picture her feet in my mind. What would they look like? I knew they would be... disfigured, bent inwards and around and upside down. I lived with a constant feeling of not knowing what to think. I was tied up in the worst kind of knot.
I was screaming 'could be worse' in my head. Yes, and I still know that - but a scary diagnosis is gut-wrenching; It changes the way you thought your life would play out.
I needed to snap out of it. I had to make a new plan: unearth in me the strength to be excited and proud when she arrived.
She deserved that. That I knew.