I’m still a mummy

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I watched the little girl shuffle across the floor on her bottom the exact same way my daughter used to do. So pretty, innocent and delightfully happy. I approached her mum and commented on what a wonderful way it was to get about. Mum didn’t seem so sure. The baby was only just over a year so I shared with her how my own daughter used to do the same and what a smart way it was to get about as it allows you to see where you are going and take things with you in your hands, both of which are much more difficult when crawling on all fours.

Mum seemed reassured when I spoke about how my daughter walks, talks, goes to school and is doing well academically. We smiled at each other, looked at each other and the conversation flowed. And then something changed. I mentioned, almost without realising, soon after, that my daughter has autism. And the conversation pretty much ended there. Any confidence and reassurance I had offered about her daughter seemed to vanish instantly. Somehow I wasn’t in a position to support or encourage because my child had some sort of disability. I am sure she probably just didn’t know what to say or felt awkward or maybe thought that somehow her daughter’s shuffling in the same way as mine may mean I was suggesting her baby may also have autism. Who knows. It just changed things the moment that word was said.

It isn’t the first time that has happened too. Neither of my children are potty trained and I find other parents avoid even talking about that when I am around. And some even find it strange if I offer to take their child to the bathroom if they require help. Maybe they think I won’t know what to do as my own children are still in nappies or maybe they feel it may upset me. Neither of those are true. When I mentioned to another friend how my son also loved being in a ball pool as a baby and still loves them now she seemed to want to change the subject. Maybe the thought my six-year old was still enjoying what her one year old likes felt weird. I am not really sure.

I sometimes want to say to people that just because my children have difficulties does not exclude me from the mummy club. I am still a mummy. My children still breastfed, had wind, were sick, went through teething, cried though the night, spat out solid food when they first tried it, learnt to sit and stand, walk and crawl and drove me crazy with noisy toys. They still pulled clothes out of drawers, fell asleep when I least wanted them too, loved throwing food from their high chairs and needed nappies changed at the most inconvenient of times. They were still children. And I am still a mummy.

The only difference is my children did these things at different times. I remember the breaking back pain of having to hold your babies hands to help them learn to master walking. It is just I was doing that with a heavier, slightly taller three-year old rather than a lighter, smaller one year old. But I still did it. Because even when children have a delay or a disability they mostly still have to go through the same stages of progress. They still have to master standing, balancing and confidence before they learn to walk. They still have to master sounds and listening skills and facial movements before learning to talk. It’s just my six-year-old got stuck somewhere when the one year old sailed through that. They still have to go through toilet training whatever age that gets mastered.

Identifying with you in your child’s progress does not mean your child has the same thing as mine. It just means my children are just as normal as yours. I still had to enrol my children at school. I even saw one take part in a nativity this week. And my children will still hate the sprouts for Christmas dinner like most other children.

I guess I just feel sometimes only going to things for disabled children, or ones with autism, or neurofibromatosis, or whatever, isn’t helping. It is often the only way we can access things and so I am all for making accommodations for families like mine. But it has the negative effect sometimes of making people think we are different. In some ways, of course, we are. In the community I live I would find it very hard to find another non verbal six-year-old or a six-year-old still in nappies for example. But I could easily find another six-year-old just like mine who doesn’t like doing what he is told, likes playing on an iPad and hates wearing a hat. I could easily find a six-year-old like my daughter who likes books and Thomas tank engine and baking cakes.

This Christmas please see my children the same as yours. Children with dreams and hopes and a bright future. Children who will wake up on Christmas morning to new toys, whatever they are, and who may end up playing with the box longer than the toy. Not because they have autism or developmental delay, but because all kids love boxes!

And just like every other mummy I want to make my kids happy. I want to hear them laugh and I want to have quality time with them. I want to be included with other parents too. Everyone is different but kids, disabled or not, are still kids.

And I am still a mummy.

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