I was at a craft store on Saturday with Samantha. I have signed up for my second sewing class because I refused to be so intimidated by an appliance.
I am very intimidated by my sewing machine.
I had Samantha bundled up in her BOB stroller, the canopy was over her head so all you could see was her cute little feet.
Two little girls behind me are arguing…..”Look at the baby.”
“That’s not a baby, she’s too big to be a baby.”
“Well then why is she in a stroller?”
“I don’t know. Mom? Why is the little girl in a stroller?” (Mom ignores the question)
“She’s not a little girl, she’s a baby!”
“Mooooommmmmm, ask that Lady if her baby is a baby or not.”
Oh good Lord. All this just to learn how to run my Singer. I really don’t think it’s worth it. I look back at the mom and give her my Really??? look.
She doesn’t seem to notice because she was on the phone. So I did my best to ignore them all. Other times I might turn and explain to the kids that Samantha is in her stroller because she can’t walk, etc, etc. But some days I just don’t want to explain our situation. Today was one of those days.
I have slowly been coming to terms that we need to get certain things for Samantha as she becomes older. We now have nursing care two days a week, we are looking into moving into a house where Samantha’s room can be on the first floor…
All because she is getting bigger.
And I am looking into a wheelchair. We have a ‘seating system’ for Samantha at school so she can sit with her peers. I keep it at school because it’s big, bulky and just doesn’t work for quick trips into the craft store.
I love our BOB. It folds up, it’s light. I can plop Samantha in there and she can wiggle until her hearts content. AND it has a weight limit of 60 pounds!!!
I probably couldn’t justify putting a 60 pound Samantha in the BOB. She’s 30 pounds now and it seems to strike a debate at the craft store.
After our stroller encounter, I met a group of friends at a 6-year olds’ birthday party.
“We need to get Samantha a wheelchair.” I said
“Oooohhhhh, I’m sorry, ” said a friend. She then frowned and caught herself. “Why did I just react like that?”
I laughed at her honesty. “Probably because I feel the same way.”
Not that it’s bad. Not that we don’t need it; we do. But that our life is moving into another space. A space that is a little more complicated. A space that means I can’t plan appointments too close to each other because I will need a little more time…time to load and unload a bigger Samantha. Who is, by the way, not a baby
It means we might have to buy a minivan. It means I will become a mom, minivan driver.
So, the wheels are in motion. We have contacted our durable medical equipment company for a wheelchair for Samantha. It should take about six months for approval and delivery.
By then I’ll probably have my head wrapped around the idea.