Grace Filled Gaps

Maxwell challenged me to pick an emotion and an event and just write. I did. This is also something many mommas ask me about - raising children from the confines of a wheelchair. I have the honor to do a bit of mentoring to new injuries in the Twin Cities area, mostly to moms. Moms that find themselves in a strange position going back to a busy life wondering "how". How will this look? How is it possible? I find such blessing in encouraging them in the real, meaningful, albeit extremely foreign contrast to their former lives. Here is my story...

Grace Filled Gaps

Discovering we were going to have a baby was an unreal joy. Shocked, with a side of smile, is a better description. We were thrilled but had whispered thoughts and hard stares at each other, "What did we do?" My nine months with Cori growing inside of me were fairly uneventful. I was sick the first three months. The second three months, I had nesting energy, nervous anticipation, and water retention towards the end of these months. I gained a ridiculous amount of weight, water and otherwise, by the last three months. All of my vitals were good. Cori was growing beautifully. Transferring became a hazard in many instances as I couldn't lean forward far enough, due to my protruding belly, to pivot my torso for the transfer. I would do the ole' one, two, three, heave-hoe bit and hoist myself to a different landing, all while praying to make it safely. So, you can imagine what that looked like getting my wheelchair in and out of my car. I would transfer into my car with a thud, transfer to the middle of the front seat, pull the driver's seat in front of my baby belly, hold my breath, and quickly reach forward and down to grab the caster wheels.  I would lug it in behind the driver's seat and catch my breath. I got super fast at this and called it exercise. At six months, I could no longer sleep on my stomach which brought all sorts of tossing and turning. By nine months, my feet were gigantic, forcing me to buy a pair of shoes two sizes bigger and elevate my feet with every spare moment. All in all, being pregnant was ordinary and extraordinary - given my wheelchair status.

The birth was another matter, however. Going into the ninth month, my obstetrician wasn't sure I'd feel contractions which led to many discussions of how to handle my last few weeks of pregnancy. I was positive I'd feel them as I feel cramps, which is annoying as I really shouldn't have to deal with such things. Kind of as a rite of passage deal - if you're  paralyzed, you should have no cramps, no weird diseases, no sickness. The chair is enough. Of course, bargaining chips don't exist in hurt or crisis. At Week 38, I was swollen, not sleeping well and overall a gigantic bump from my chest to my knees. I couldn't bend forward. Bending sideways was questionable. Transferring was now risky. I was beyond ready to have this baby, thinking it would be so much better to care for her on the outside. I would still be limited but not this limited. Cori was developing perfectly, so the doctors induced labor at Week 39 so as to avoid the risk of an unannounced birth. Early morning on June 26th, I checked into the hospital, was situated in a comfortable birthing room, IV's were planted in my arm, a pressure cuff on the other arm and Pitocin was gently introduced to my veins. Yep, by 2pm, contractions were in full swing and I could definitely feel them. I would have known. I breathed shallow with no noise and no touching. Pain shuts me down. Don't touch or talk. I want to be crabby, by myself. And I will bark at you if I need something.  Once contractions were lasting a minute or two, I was told to hold my knees and push any way I could. Nobody knew if this would work for me as I don't have many stomach muscles. Dependence lay on my contractions. At exactly 6PM that evening, a beautiful baby girl was born. They placed her big, pink, screaming mouth on my chest and I sighed a, "Wow." With a breath of deep gratitude, I realized the wonderment of life. Why this wonderment had never affected me before, I have no clue. I guess it was never so personal. I'm actually not a natural nurturer. I was more about getting things done so we can have fun. There wasn't much care in the process. I probably would have been a better mom if the eight year old Cori had walked up to my doorstep instead of this 7 pound 9 ounce baby, who couldn't describe anything and cried as her form of communication. Infancy is a guessing game. And I instinctively second guess everything so mostly, I was frazzled much of her young life. As for the birth, that was it? What are people always complaining about?! To give credit to able-bodied women, I didn't feel bear down pains so that difference is duly noted and I've heard, quite a big deal.

Two days later, the nurse escorted Peter and I to the car with the brand new baby-carrying car seat. I was not up for publicly proving my mothering skills, as I was mostly stumbling over myself, so I asked Peter to put Cori in the car seat base.  This was the first time I was the center of attention in which I needed to prove my untapped abilities to care for this baby. For the next five years, I would have people literally stop, roll down their windows for a better view, and witness me getting my child and my wheelchair in and out of the car, independently. I hated the show but I loved the proving. Peter confidently handled our daughter while I set about getting myself in the car. I needed to be gentle with the transfer so as not to disrupt healing. I planted my fists, one on my wheelchair, and the other on my seat in the car. I forgot about the weight lost from having a baby. I pumped my body upwards, smacked my head on the top of the doorframe and boomeranged back down to the driver's seat. Not graceful but I was in and there was no sense in redoing that beauty. In all of this nervousness, I laughed. Things are going to look different now, in oh so many ways. We have drastically changed the landscape we will be living in.

On the drive home, I kept looking in my review mirror, looking at this human being. Mostly, I prayed she wouldn't start screaming on the way home and that breastfeeding would work out and that I could do this mothering thing. I was scared to death. The panic was real and having another human being in which I was responsible for, was blinding. What did I do? She can't even talk.

I recovered well. Healed well. Nursing took off. She cried nonstop. I guessed at her issues. I was anxious rolling around in my own house. I've always had a job, since I was nine years old. And now I have this baby that can't talk to me, sleeps a lot and when awake, yells at me. I was floundering in my own created position. Peter came home at the beginning of the second week of me trying to play this game of motherhood and I cried in a panicked exhaustion, "A baby. Who do we think we are!? We made a mistake. This is a person! We can't do this. I am going to ruin her!" Peter read all of my face, hugged me and replied, "Uh. Yes, we can. She's ours. We'll figure this out." I stared at her little body and she resolutely became my challenge. I needed a plan. I accepted her unknowns and set out to win. I totally wish I could redo most of her first four years of life. I was ridiculous with schedules and discipline. My natural bent is to have fun, however with responsibility on my plate, I became rigid, making checklists and reading books and going to mom speakers. There is a whole world of "shoulds" we moms hear from others. It's an unrealistic checklist set before us that's expected to be grabbed and used as a tool. Good intentions are certainly the motive to presenting the "shoulds" but this mom began a checklist of guilt. I'm different and simply couldn't fit all that I was suggested to do in a day. I ran that wheel of endless demands to simply be counted as a "good mom". That was the least I could do, right? Good grief. Failed expectations killed me, over and over again. There was also the adding of the wheelchair factor, which offered up something all together different. My parenting looked very different. It had to. I couldn't up and run after her when she wandered into the street or run alongside her while she pedaled her first bicycle. I couldn't pick her up after she fell in the playground because I couldn't get through the sand or hold her hand at a crowded zoo or mall. It was all very different. I needed to stop making my life match those that seemed to have parenting down to a science with all of their intentionality. What I know now is, it's all okay. I wasn't meant to do it their way. Enter grace. I'm different. We're different. Parenting ought to look different in the logistics of raising a human being. I needed to navigate my own space, create my normal and just love her. Unconditionally but tough when warranted. Give her boundaries because she's a child but allow her to be creative. Give her a place to belong, with us, in our family. Teach her about Jesus. Advocate for her. Introduce her to the world. That was a snippet of time on the entire reel. Yes, it is important but in the midst of living, keep it simple.

My first challenge was leaving the house with her, alone. Two amazing friends came over to meet Cori but they didn't even take off their coats. We hugged. They knew me well. "You're leaving this house. You do everything. We will watch. If you need help, we're here and will help. Let's go to Subway for lunch. Close. Easy. We can run home if we need to." I wanted to cry. These are women I could totally be vulnerable with and they knew I needed to be pushed, but with a net of safety. Oh my goodness, I was palm sweaty nervous. What if I couldn't get her in the car? "We'll help you." What if she cries and needs to be nursed? "I'll throw a blanket over you and you'll nurse her. We'll pick a corner table." What if she cries incessantly? "We'll bounce her around." One of my friends had a baby a year older than Cori so I had confidence in their plan. Just not in me. I wheeled to Cori's bedroom with her car seat on my lap. My mom had made a belt for me out of an old car seatbelt. I would put it around my waist and fasten the Velcro-ed ends around the handle of the car seat. If I suddenly had to stop or lean over, the car seat would stay fastened to my lap.  I set the car seat on the changing table, wheeled to the crib, picked up Cori by grabbing her bib overalls and placing her on my lap. She wore one piece everything making it easier to grab her clothes with one hand while using the other hand to grasp my wheelchair for balance. It was mostly for the benefit of  picking her up off the floor. I can't use both hands as I don't have the balance or the stomach and leg muscles to lift up once I've grabbed her. She lived in one piece outfits. Holding her with one hand, I wheeled the short distance to the changing table. My cousin constructed this simple desk so it would be the perfect height, width, and nothing underneath. My chair fit perfectly. I placed Cori in the car seat and buckled her in. Then heaved the entire car seat onto my lap and strapped her in with my homemade seat belt.

 

At the door, I finagled my chair to the side so I could reach around the car seat and grab the door handle, swung the door open and into the garage we went. Because my wheelchair folded and fit directly behind me on the driver's seat side of my two door car, Cori had to go in the front passenger seat. There weren't laws regarding children in the front seat at that time and I didn't have an airbag. I wheeled her to her seat and snapped her into place. Wheeled back to the driver's side, transferred, put my wheelchair seat cushion on the back seat, folded my chair and placed the caster wheels on the rim at the bottom of the door. I scooted to the middle of the front seats, pulled the driver's seat in front of me, grabbed the caster wheels and pulled my wheelchair inside. Buckled up, realizing I had did it. The first part anyway. My friends grinned and were not surprised. They followed me in their own car as there was not room for them in mine. Arriving at Subway, I reversed the entire process. I scooted over, pulled the driver's side chair in front of me, grabbed the legs of the wheelchair, pushed it out of the car making sure to catch the wheels on the frame, pushed the driver's chair back, scooted back  into my seat, grabbed the casters and set them on the ground. Then I opened the wheelchair and put my cushion on before transferring. I transferred, wheeled around, put my brakes on so as not to roll away while on a slight decline, clicked Cori out of her car seat base which required both hands. I readjusted my body to balance it better before putting her on my lap so I didn't go flying backwards. I strap her with my homemade strap that I had placed beside her car seat and we wheeled into Subway. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was. You probably read this and thought, "I'd never go anywhere. The work and thought process...." But I was desperate for normalcy. Going to Subway with friends was a normal thing to do and three weeks after having this baby, I felt as if I were participating in life again! Cori did get fussy and she did get bounced. We ate fast and went home but that taste of freedom spurred countless adventures.

I went everywhere. Iowa to see family, Target, grocery stores, mall. When there was a cart, I had to learn how to  put her in the seat part as I couldn't buy anything with her already taking all of my lap. I also left full carts because my screaming, demanding three year old was not going to get her way. A three year old doesn't care that you're in a wheelchair. In fact, she heartily used this against me. Several times, when she knew she was in trouble, she would hide behind the couch where I couldn't reach her and you absolutely guessed it. I would transfer out of my chair to the couch or to the floor because I was full of fire and determination and youth, and I was going to be the mom. The wheelchair was not an obstacle but there was no mercy in taking advantage of it either. At the mall, I strapped her to my body with my seatbelt. I couldn't buy anything unless it fit into my backpack but that was okay because I was among the living. I went to parks, but only if I met friends there as Cori needed help on the swings or if she fell in the sand where I couldn't venture. Minnesota also brought its many challenges with the winters. Ice. Snow. Sand and salt. Me and my wheelchair was enough and now a child has been added. I was always thinking and planning ahead. Online shopping would have been a gift from the Lord.

Cori was opinionated and very verbal at an early age. We taught her sign language at six months so she could sign "all done", "drink", "thank you", "eat", "please" and "more" instead of crying or screaming at us. This lasted a short bit as words came quick and fast at ten months.  Everyone got to hear what she thought and her version of every song from Mulan. She invited checkout ladies to our house for dinner. She said hello and had a conversation with anyone who gave her a glimpse of eye contact. She was loud until you paid attention. Because of this outspoken, free living child, we never judged another parent. I could barely tread above our own issues. I wanted to hang a sign on her at the age of two saying she was two and please have mercy because she looked five and talked like she was seven. And yes, we're floundering but we're seriously doing the best that we can. We are attentive and on top of it and yes, for the love of all things holy, we see it!

She was a strong child. Of course she was. With Peter and me, I get it. But I also get, this whole rearing a child thing, it wasn't about her. It was about Peter and me. In hindsight, I realize this was our training ground, not Cori's. We did big time growing in this space of time and I was forced let go of my own self consciousness and expectations. I learned to play. And I got tough. I tried to get creative but I also begged her to just please sit and watch this Disney movie before Mommy has a mental breakdown. I answered questions and hugged her and provided boundaries. I reminded myself often that I was the boss. Not her. I could decide things - without her approval. I also asked for lots of forgiveness. I was always the mom and she was always the daughter but, essentially, we grew up together. We discovered new territory together. We lived out loud, front and center, where ever we went. Parenting was always a production for us.

My consolation is that she is now, at twenty two years of age, a wonderful human being and God knew. He knew I was imperfect and questioning and not intentional. His grace filled in the gaps. He knew what kind of parent I would be and determined I still be a parent. He wanted this unconventional family for this beautiful girl. He wanted this girl... to grow us.

PS - I wanted to make sure nothing was hurtful to Cori before I posted this so I sent it to her. She said, "Mom it's totally fine but this is exactly why I'm not having children. They are so loud, and persistent,  and demanding. Just thought you should know."  I laughed out loud. Yep, they are sweet girl, but so so worth every moment!