31 Days - What I want to be when I grow up

One thing no one told me as a child was that when you're an adult there are times - sometimes many times - where you don't feel like a grown up at all. For a long time when I became a wife and mother I would stop and say, "What? Hang on. I'm a MOTHER? I'm a grown up?" It never felt quite real and even now at the age of 48 I still catch myself feeling incredulous that I am in fact, a grown up.

No one told me that that young girl would still exist in my heart and soul and I'd still feel like throwing out all form of responsibility and just run naked down a sand dune in the middle of summer.

Not that I ever did that mind you....but it's on the Bucket List!

All I ever really wanted to do when I grew up was be a mother. I loved taking care of my dolls as a little girl. I loved it when my Mum would have another baby and there'd be this brand new little someone in the house to love. It was so special, so magical. I have to admit that my own initial foray into motherhood wasn't teh lovely, romantic thing I had envisaged, but when that round, warm little body was placed into my arms I was so incredibly hooked and I felt as though I was finally doing what I was born to do.

I know there are countless women out there who don't see motherhood like that, but I did. I've come to realise that just because I never wanted a high-falutin' career nor did I have lofty ambitions that didn't make me any less of a feminist.

So I guess you could say that I became what I wanted to be - a MOTHER.

But when I REALLY am grown up - I want to be a GRANDMOTHER! Then I think I will finally accept the fact that I am indeed, a grown up.

Adult clinics at The Kids

Unfortunately there are no Bone Dysplasia/Genetics Clinics set up for adults of short stature, however our team of specialists do us all a favour and sneak anyone over the age of 18 into their clinics at the Royal Children's Hospital. They are keen to offer us this service and are interested in following people with dwarfism throughout all stages of life so as to get a better understanding of our condition and to make sure that we all remain healthy.

On Tuesday it was my turn. I'd been waiting to see the specialists for a couple of months, to chat with them about how I was travelling, my training schedule and some MRI results I received last year so I was pleased when I received a phone call on Monday saying that there had been a cancellation at the clinic and would I like it?

It's a whole new ball game going to the Children's Hospital not as a mother but as myself and for myself. There wasn't any underlying tension or anxiety. Lovely, but strange.

I was seen pretty much straight away by one of the new kids on the block. When my kids were really young I used to hate seeing new doctors, or students or interns. I worried that they wouldn't know their stuff, that we'd be given wrong information, that they'd miss something important. I said as such to one of our most trusted, now retired spinal surgeons once. I told him, "Mr D, I hope these students are just as good as you." He smiled, looked at me and said, "Mrs W, I trust that they're better than me." 

After that day I relaxed considerably and learned to trust these new doctors. After all, if Mr D had faith in them who was I to question that?

Anyway, I was seen by a lovely young female doctor and we had a great chat about how I was going. She already knew a lot about me from the pre-clinic meeting the doctors and specialists always have so it was kind of nice not having to go through the same old story once again. She encouraged me in my fitness endeavours and said that I looked strong and healthy.

After we chatted, Associate Professor Ravi came in to say hi and have a chat. Ravi has known our family for eighteen years. We first met him on the day our youngest daughter was diagnosed with her condition. He and I are the same age...although he is TWO MONTHS OLDER which I never fail to mention to him as he ribs me about getting older. (he teases me about grey hair, I tell him that I'm grateful that I have hair...unlike him!) We chatted about my general health and he encouraged me to keep up with my running and fitness programs as there was plenty of evidence to suggest that it would ensure that I will stay active and healthy well into old age. He did caution me to listen to my body and not to push myself if my dodgy knee was acting up or if I was starting to become exhausted. I was encouraged to keep mixing up the training - swimming, massages (yes please!) yoga or just a simple walk. Staying active and listening to my body are the keys to my continued health and mobility.

We also talked a bit about my mental health. Ravi said I looked healthy and happy. We talked about how long it took me to succumb to the mental pressures of raising children with multiple issues. Whilst I had been feeling guilty about maintaining a facade of being strong, having it all together and living in denial for so long, Ravi told me that it was possibly the thing that kept me going, that kept me strong and made sure that we could all continue doing life as we did. He said that if I hadn't have kept that up the reality of everything would have crushed me. Paraphrasing what he said I think I get the impression that sometimes a bit of denial and dogged determination is a good thing.

And honestly, when it came to the day of the final spinal fusion, I really didn't think I had it in me to have to watch one of my children go through that one more time...but that dogged determination and a little bit of denial kicked in and we did it one more time.  I held my child's hand as they had their anaesthetic one more time,  held on to her as she had hallucinations from the ketamine...and watched as she learned to walk again.

So all this time I had been feeling guilty for putting up the facade I didn't need to. It's a necessary and vital part of being a parent of a child with a disability or difference. You do what you need to do to get through.

My appointment at the clinic on Tuesday was kind of cathartic in a way. I felt as though I had finally put some things to rest from my mothering years, along with getting the official go-ahead to keep on going with my running. I told Ravi that I didn't know what I would do if I didn't have approval to keep running because it's done more for my mental health and self-acceptance than any session I've had with a counsellor. Ravi said that we don't know what's ahead for me really, but while I am fit and well it is important to keep LIVING!

And that's what I plan on doing. 

My Mothering Journey

Motherhood is the best thing to ever happen to me. You know where there's that thing deep down inside of you that's instinctual and you know you were born to do it? That was motherhood for me.

My foray into motherhood didn't start out in the best possible way. At the age of nineteen years and 4.5 months I discovered I was pregnant. 

Oh! So it does work! *blinks*

One thing you have to understand, back in 1986 we were still on the tail end of single mothers being stigmatised...and coming from a conservative Christian home the news wasn't met with a great deal of joy, excitement and enthusiasm. Not by a long shot. On both sides of the family really...

My poor mother. I decided to break the news to her whilst she was serving up a roast chicken dinner for ten people. I kind of let her guess what I needed to tell her. She almost forgot to make the gravy...and years later she said she barely tasted that chicken. Poor Mum. She had the harder job. Telling my Dad...

Although everything with the pregnancy was smooth and uncomplicated, I wish I could say that I was the epitome of serenity and calm...but I wasn't. Looking back on it now, even though I felt grown up I wasn't and I was most definitely still a kid having a kid. I was pretty much led around by the medics, succumbed to their wishes and tests and investigations. I had no idea of my rights, no thought to saying no and really felt out of control in the whole process.

Like I said, a kid having a kid.

When I woke from the general anaesthetic after my c-section I couldn't comprehend the searing pain I was in. I'd never felt pain like it before. It was all I could think about until the pethidine kicked in. Then my thoughts were to the baby. My baby. Somewhere in that huge hospital there was a baby girl who was mine and I needed to see her, touch her, hold her. I wouldn't rest until I'd held her and so, a couple of hours after having major abdominal surgery, I stood up and got into a wheelchair and they took me down a couple of floors to meet my baby girl.

I wish I could say that on seeing her I felt this wonderful, indescribable rush of maternal love. I wish I could say that I held her, the tears flowed and I pronounced her "The Most Beautiful Baby On Earth." I wish I could say that. Truth is, the best way to describe the feeling was detached curiosity. They handed me this dear little girl and told me she was mine...but she didn't feel like mine. I had been expecting to feel like a mother...and I didn't. 

Looking back on that day now I see how far we have come in understanding the importance of mother/baby skin-to-skin contact and how vital it is for bonding. When I saw my baby she was cleaned up and tightly swaddled in a bundle of blankets. I remember holding my daughter and systematically unwrapping her so I could see her body and check out her arms and legs, fingers and toes. It was all instinctual - as though I needed to do it.

The feeling of love did come, a couple of days later I just loved her...and yearned for her so much. She was still two floors away from me. She still didn't feel like mine. She belonged to the hospital...and I couldn't shake this feeling of almost having to ask permission to do anything with her. 

This feeling persisted for eight long months - until my partner and I were married and living together as our own little family unit. Until then we were all living together in a house of 10+ people and I kind of felt as though I was my daughters carer and she belonged to everyone in the house. The feeling frightened me because I loved her so completely but was terrified that because of the sheer number of people surrounding her every day she didn't know that I was her mother. Everyone loved Sarah...and the feelings that were so prevalent from people during my pregnancy simply melted away by the sheer wonder of her.

It was only after we got married and were finally doing everything properly did I feel as though I had the right to be her proper mother....and I started taking to it like a duck to water. No I wasn't as organised as my own mother, but I started finding my own groove. Sarah and I played and went on walks and read books and grew up together I suppose. Some days, in that dear little house at the back of a group of units, it felt as though it was just she and I existing in the world.

I did so many things "wrong". Looking back on it all now I simply cringe at some of my ways, things I did or didn't do...but it was in those things that I came to understand that we mothers are simply trying to do our very best with the internal resources we have. We don't have it all together, and our poor firstborn children are the ones we experiment with. I was the experiment for my parents...and I do know, deep in my heart, that they did the very best they could through the sheer force of love.

Mothering the second, third and fourth time around was so much easier. Telling people I was pregnant was joyous news to share. I'd grown up. No longer a kid having a kid...even though I was still only 23, 24 and 29 respectively...I was able to take more control, have a voice, state my wishes regarding the pregnancies and births. Bonding with the babies was easier as they were brought in and laid in my arms as soon as possible, still clothed but unswaddled. Georgia, my last baby, was actually awake and alert when I met her and we spent those first minutes gazing into each other's eyes. It was as though she needed to know me as much as I wanted to know her. I wish I'd been able to have that with the others too. It still remains the most magical experience of my life. 

Mothering has been the most wonderful, awe-inspiring, terrifying, heartbreaking experiences of my life. Being a mother means that you're watching your heart beat outside your body every single day. Being a mother is a constant lesson in letting go, being brave when you're the most terrified you've ever been. Being a mother means that you get to be a child again and view the world through their eyes; being in a constant state of wonder at the world. 

I have become my own kind of mother. Initially you look to your own mother for guidance and you start mothering from the store of experiences you had with your own...but as the years pass I've become aware that I've learned mothering in my own way. I've taken from my own mother the lessons of dedication, diligence, strength and an inexhaustible work ethic but nurtured things that are uniquely me - silliness, a sense of the ridiculous, adventure. I've developed a style of mothering from those things I wished I had - a longing to be able to talk about anything and everything. My children and I talk about everything. Nothing is taboo. Sometimes I am astounded by the subjects we explore...but it feels right to be doing so...and it's in those things that I learn about how wonderful these four souls are that have graced us with their presence. 

Being a mother has opened my eyes and enabled me to see my own mother in a new light. She was and is perfect for me - a woman who, out of her imperfection and brokenness, gave the very best she had to me and my six siblings. She learned right along with us, worked every single day of her mothering life tirelessly and selflessly. I am in constant awe of her strength and diligence...and her love for all of us and the love she still has for our father may not be shouted from the rooftops but is just as loud and just as strong in her quiet, meek way. I love her with the whole of my being.