I’m often told that I have an amazing attitude towards Sam’s disabilities, that people are amazed at how we cope, or that they are amazed at how we manage to keep smiling.
No need to be amazed, it isn’t rocket science really, he’s just my son and I love him the same as any mother loves her child…
Neither Sam’s Dad nor I see ourselves as anything other than parents to a lovely little boy.
I suspect all special needs parents will identify with the sense of slight amusement as we are hailed somehow more inspirational, or stronger than mere mortals.
We didn’t choose this life but it was what was given to us, so we do what every parents does – we raise our children to the best of our ability.
I read something on Facebook this morning, about how you can either get bitter or you can get better.
I chose the latter option. It was a conscious decision, I didn’t just suddenly wake up one morning and feel OK with the knowledge that my only child is profoundly disabled.
When he was born I promised to love him no matter what. To be his greatest champion, cheerleader and to be the best Mum I could possibly be.
None of that has changed just because he communicates with me in a different way to talking, or that he needs me to be his legs and carry him because he can’t yet walk.
Seeing how my tiny boy defiantly loves life and giggles in the face of his disabilities (and at farting… farting is extremely funny) just makes me love him even more than I ever imagined possible.
When Sam was 18 weeks old we were given a bleak prognosis for him; at that time we had no idea what was going on with our baby, all we knew was that he was critically ill.
I promised God at that moment that if he would just spare my boy we would deal with any disability, just let him stay with us. Please.
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