I’m a little over 18 years post-accident (resulting in my T8 paralysis) and a little under one-year post-childbirth. Both statistics are mind-blowing: how have almost two decades already passed and have I really been a mother for that long?
My paralysis and motherhood have both been full of ups and downs, but I’ve managed an overall upward trajectory for as long as I can remember. There have been a few wrenches in my way (see: constant wounds and postpartum near-depression), but my forward motion is largely thanks to listening to my needs and giving myself respect. My needs and that respect have looked very different over time, but I’ve learned [the hard way] that it’s important to honor them both.
Easier said than done, I know.
As a mama to a beautiful growing boy, I can’t be my priority anymore: taking a shower is a late-night luxury; I’ve gone pro in eating my food with one hand, while the other feeds a tiny mouth; I’ve sensationalized “bathroom time” with my son in the mornings so he’ll come with me to brush my teeth; and a list of everyday labors I now consider luxuries. It’s the best and I wouldn’t change a thing, please believe that.
But then I get a pressure sore on my ischium.
Then I get a UTI.
Then I have a headache from skipping lunch.