Keeping it “Real”


Sometimes, as a disabled mother I feel less whole.  Like somehow able-bodied mothers have inherent maternal capacities that I am doomed to lack.  Able-bodied moms take their kids to the playground three days a week, they change diapers with the wave of an arm, play with their kids on the floor, and my favorite, do “newborn nighttime duty” by themselves, selflessly, while the rest of the family sleeps.
I never am at the playground alone with Dubs.  I could loosely put on a diaper when he was a baby, but rather unreliably, and ran the risk of poor chaffy baby butt if the velcro was too loose.  When I am on the floor, Hubs has to hoist me back up.  And nighttime feedings? HA! Do not get me started. Around the magical age of eight months, I realized that Dubs could care less about my any of this.  He loved, and still loves, going around in my chair – we rarely use(d) a stroller.  I am the only person that he currently shares his toys, books, and juice with.  And mind you, he is two. Almost three.  And you know what they say about three year olds.
This morning I drove Dubs to “school” (daycare) and the staff there took him out of his car seat and to his class.  And everything felt “real” -dropping off my son before I go to work. The social worker part of me tells me that I should never question my abilities to parent solely on this basis, but the greatest teacher of this is, and will always be, Dubs.
He keeps it “Real.”

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