Where I'm Coming From

I never had the luxury - for it is a luxury - of assuming my children would be typical.  In fact, I was told things like, “You are an imbecile and any child of yours will be more of an imbecile!”  (I was not an imbecile.  The word was misused.  Minimal Brain Damage was the term I was labeled with, but by definition of the word “minimal”, I could not be an imbecile.  I do not doubt my distaste for functioning labels began with this mess.)

When you grow up believing you are retarded and horrible, told lies about how daring to have children will result in having constantly violent and words-I-will-not-mention-here children - never do you have the privilege of taking for granted the possibility that your children will be normal.

But I knew I, personally, would be incomplete without motherhood. Marrying a man I knew at the time had Cerebral Palsy did not change my mind. Granted, Cerebral Palsy is not genetic, but my point is that I was not scared of committing myself to anyone disabled. After all, I had lived with myself all my life. Myself who allegedly drove off my father and singlehandedly destroyed my mother's joy. I do not believe I did either of those things (though I did use to believe I had). My parents, their own selfish thoughts and actions, did those things.

When James and I boarded the metaphorical airplane to parenthood, we had no destination planned. So to speak, we said, “Surprise us. We just want to travel.”

And lo and behold, we did NOT end up in a dangerous jungle with bloodthirsty beasts. Far from it.

This is not written to downplay the feelings of anyone.  I know most people reading this are living lives they did not sign up for.  This was written to give people an idea where I am coming from.