When we were dating, I remember telling my now-husband: “I don’t think I want to be pregnant because I don’t want to put my body through that.” It was a fleeting thought that I threw out shortly after, but that’s just to say that I had (and still kind of have) a concern over what state the whole birthing process will leave my body in. I’ve worked so hard for many years since my accident to keep my body in optimal shape, and don’t want to take 10 steps backward – even if it means I get to have a baby at the end. A small, beautiful baby boy.
The one universal thing is, in my opinion, also the most difficult: getting big, and the inaccessibility that comes with it. My pregnant belly has been the source of nearly all my difficulties since it started expanding. I’ve resisted that struggle as much as I could, but my body/baby won in the end.
As much as I tried to fight it, pregnancy put me back to square 1 of my disability in a few areas:
When I transfer into my husband’s high car, he must give me a little boost from behind or I won’t make it to the seat. It’s annoying that I can’t transfer high on my own anymore, but my resistance of his help means I’ll be splat on the ground.
I’ve accepted my lack of grace while transferring in or out of my wheelchair – especially at 4 AM when I’m getting up for the bathroom. I didn’t used to wake everyone but with my heavy breathing and sure fumble into my seat, we’re all roused.
Bending over my legs has been the hardest ability to cede because that’s so much of my every day. I [used to] bend over to dry my hair, pull up my pants, and pick things from the floor. Now, I’ve learned to dry my hair sitting up (takes longer), pull up my pants by transferring to my bed (not public-restroom-friendly), and shimmy my body sideways to reach the ground (obnoxious). When I say I’m excited to have this baby “so I can have my body back,” I mostly mean “so I can fold over my legs again.”