You should hear the title of this post in the style of the famous “you’ll shoot your eye out” line from Christmas Story. I’ve mentioned before that I didn’t really worry before Riley and I were on our own about how to carry her, but when it did occur to me that I could fall with the baby my reaction was simply “I wouldn’t let that happen.” I didn’t stress about it, but there was my dad’s constant taunting question every time he saw me with the baby, “what if you drop the baby?”
I have my moments of feeling judged when someone stares a little too long at me with the baby. There is this element of being disabled, people stare. It happens every day, but I will only notice and worry about it on days when I’m self-conscious about something (a zit, my roots, etc). Usually if strangers offer to help me when I have the baby their kindness is taken in the spirit it was intended. I’m sure these folks would stop to help anyone who was struggling with their arms full, but occasionally a comment hits me in the place my dad’s question lives.
The truth is I know my limitations and would NEVER do anything to hurt my little girl, but the unexpected happens. Like the time I set Riley in the tub and tile fell off the wall missing her completely, but scaring the crap out of me. For Riley’s sake there is nothing I wouldn’t do including brace yourselves…ask for help. I’ve gladly let a kind stranger help me load up the stroller or my wheelchair even the groceries once or twice.
Again, things happen, disabled or not. When Riley was about 2 months old I was completely frazzled trying to get out the door and IT happened. I tripped and even though I clutched my baby to me and bent low to the ground she toppled a few inches. She hit the floor face down and I have no clear memory of what happened as I was operating on pure adrenaline, but I scooped her into my arms and brought her into the nursery. I examined every inch of her and she was fine and calmed quickly, but far longer than the fear that my baby was hurt I sat there in terror that someone would find out and take her away from me. I was unsure even who to call because how could anyone not judge? My head was spinning with more guilt and fear than I’ve ever felt (welcome to motherhood, I know). Eventually I spoke to one of my best able bodied, nonparent friends who calmly relayed the story of her father tripping with her little sister and breaking her collarbone. Her point being it could and does happen to everyone.
More than the outside world I worried about Mike’s reaction. I mean how could he go to work each day worried I’d hurt the baby? He didn’t see it that way at all. He assured me it would happen again and that I should just lay her on the ground if I fall. He also agreed with my mother, a pediatric nurse, that I did everything I was supposed to do and that Riley was fine. She really was fine not a mark on her and all smiles by the time Mike got home.
Well, IT happened again. This time I tripped and bent my knee and calmly started to lay her down on the carpet and that little wiggler went over my fingertips and hit the carpet. It was hardly “a fall” it was a few inches down to soft carpet, but it scared her and when she wouldn’t let me touch her head it scared me. All the way to the ER the voice in my head was back convincing me that they’d take one look at me and decide I was unfit.
There was one nurse who implied I was not telling the whole story and asked what my “medical condition” was even though it wasn’t at all relevant to the situation. She also called the doctor within earshot of me and said “I’ve got a 4month old, the mother has cp….” Maybe she wasn’t very bright and thought it was a genetic disorder or maybe she was just being rude. Perhaps, she would have considered it pertinent if I had been overweight or of some other ethnicity, who knows.
Absolutely no one implied I was unfit in fact they applauded me for doing all the right things. Again, Riley was absolutely fine and no one tried to take her from me. Even my dad reacted by quotong a line from a tv show that had been on the week before, “they’re built to withstand the very worst of parents. You’re doing fine.” So, the answer to my dad’s and (I’m sure countless strangers question), we get back up and move on.
**It should be noted it has NOT happened in the months since I wrote this post and probably won't now that I admitted in writing that it happened in the past.
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