On Getting Wheels and Becoming a Toddler
She has wheels now and I have such mixed feelings about it. As we pushed the wheel chair out of the building yesterday my heart beat was fast and irregular. I was ecstatic thinking of the freedom that this chair could bring to my daughter. I was happier than I could express seeing the smile on her face. But as we walked out the door my heart froze for a moment.
It's official now. Final now.
This is not what I had wanted for my daughter. Even after her diagnosis I still held to that small chance that this day wouldn't come and now it's arrived and passed.
I wanted to clap and jump and dance with happiness, but I also wanted to burst into tears of grief.
Today my mix of feelings concerning her wheel chair has only gotten more complicated.
I feel like this wheel chair has finished the slow progression to toddlerhood for my daughter. And I'm not sure I like it.
She has always been a fairly easy baby (apart from the sleep issues). She's been a happy, fairly content child.
She showed signs of deep determination and internal stubbornness during therapy sessions when she would keep trying things over and over without getting tired. But she has never been prone to frustration. She would play nicely on her own from a fairly early age and was often quite happy to watch as I went about my daily activities.
I have been so grateful for her peaceful temperament, especially since my oldest is far from peaceful and very demanding.
She has slowly started to show more signs of frustration, stubbornness, desire and discontent in the past few months. Bryan and I joked and laughed about a month ago, saying "oh she finally turned into a two year old." But it really wasn't so bad. Maybe one tantrum a week - a miracle compared to other toddlers.
Today, her first full day with the wheel chair, that changed. She became a full blown "terrible two". I can't even begin to count the number of tantrums we had today. It was nearly constant.
You know that stage when babies just start to become aware of their environment and begin to realize that they can move but their bodies aren't quite there yet so they just end up frustrated that they can't quite do what they want to do or get where they want to get? My daughter entered that stage over night.
Her frustration also led her to attempt to communicate more, in an attempt to get me to get her where she wanted to be, but her communication skills are so far behind (re: nearly non-existent) that it just led to more frustration for both of us.
I know in the long run that all of this is really good. I know that this frustration will ultimately turn into motivation. I know that her trying to communicate more will ultimately lead to better communication. But it was a difficult day. A frustrating day - for both of us.
As I end today I feel thankful and excited for her wheel chair and the new sense of independence it's giving her. I feel hopeful that she will eventually figure out how to use it and be able to get places on her own.
I also feel frustrated for the ways in which it is making my life more difficult in the short term and for the inconvenience of it. (Totally selfish I know, but there it is).
And then there's the sadness. Sadness that my daughter even has to go down this road.
A pure emotion is rare, isn't it? Most of life is more like this, lots of emotions all mixed together at once.
So I end the day desperately trying to hold onto the thankfulness and hope more than the frustration and grief.
Rejoicing in the journey, Bethany