Written by Charlotte Jones
I hadn’t been with my boyfriend long before I found out I was pregnant, but we were both so happy about it. My pregnancy was amazing. I loved it. I worked out 6 times a week- but I was petrified of not knowing what was pregnancy weight and what was extra weight. It turned out once my son was born my stomach went flat. I did have lots of extra skin, though I described it as a kangaroo pouch, but nothing high waisted leggings wouldn’t hide.
I loved being a mum but I was very protective. I wouldn’t let anyone hold him. He was mine- all mine. After 6 months I went back to work, but again I loved it. I loved working, being a mum and a housewife. It was the best feeling in the world.
When my son was 15 months, I woke up one morning and couldn’t move. I could talk but it made no sense. I was rushed to hospital. It turned out I had a major stroke and was very lucky to be alive. I was told I’d never walk again. I don’t remember much from hospital, except how scared my little boy was of his mum. It was awful. It made me feel so down and like my life was spiralling out of my control. After 3 months I was allowed home and I was so excited, but part of me was in complete denial. I thought I’d get home and everything will be back to normal, but it wasn’t- I could barely walk, my son was still afraid of me and I couldn’t change him, bath him, make his bottles, or even play with him. It caused my depression to become worse. I felt worthless. I thought I’d be better off dead than be such a burden on my boyfriend and the kids. It was slowly breaking me.
I needed help with everything and not being able to be a proper mum was so hard, but I persevered and my life started to come together. It took 2 years, but I was starting to feel a bit more of a mum. I can finally take my son out on my own. I don’t have him very often as I struggle to look after him. It completely exhausts me. I know being a parent is hard work, but this feels like I can’t even move.
My son is now 3 and he’s amazing. He accepts me as I am. It doesn’t bother him that I’m disabled. I feel more guilt than anything, as there are lots of things can’t do with him, so we make the most of little things. We walk to the park and collect leaves. We play pooh sticks over the bridges we come across. At the park I find other mums are helpful and they will lift him into a swing for me and I can then push him. When we go out he walks right next to my chair. He knows not to walk behind me as it worries me that someone might grab him. At home I can now out a pull up on him for bed-luckily potty training him was very easy. I am starting to get him dressed but I struggle doing it. I will get there. It will just take some time.
He doesn’t understand why I have two arms but only one works. I am learning to pick him up for cuddles and I am so excited to be able to. I wish I could hold him, squeeze him, but I can’t. Being how I am breaks my heart and I feel so bad for him, but the older he gets the easier it will become.