Somedays I feel like I just can’t do it. This whole parenting thing can be overwhelming. Then I read a piece like this and think – get up off your sorry butt and be thankful for what you have.
And yet my motherhood wasn’t entirely typical because I have been blind since the age of twenty-six. Raising my two kids was unique in several ways.
For instance, as early as four months, my daughter learned to make noise so that I would find her. Other babies simply smiled at their sighted mothers; Leslie chirped, and automatically I walked to her. Later, when the kids would get off to different parts of the house from where I was located, they made a sound, which I repeated. They couldn’t make eye contact with me for reassurance, so we connected by voice. I also placed bells on their shoes to hear where they were, and when their friends came over, I placed an extra bell on them, too (which worked wonders until they got older and they’d sneak off their shoes). When my children’s guests grew older, I didn’t use the bells anymore. My kids translated for me. “He’s nodding, Mom,” my son Joel would say, or “He’s pointing to grape juice.”
Read: Love is Blind