Dyspraxia & Motherhood - Written by Amira Esposito
I first realised that my dyspraxia was going to come into play in motherhood before my first day as a mother. It was April 16th, 2020, and the hospital was in a frenzy surrounding COVID. Being in the hospital to give birth, particularly after having been isolated during the tense first month of COVID, didn’t feel real.
I was given doses of pitocin, a medication to induce labour, and I got an epidural, and, all of a sudden, contractions happened. I know that epidurals work wonders for many people, and honestly, God bless and more power to them, but I felt everything, and it burned and hurt and killed. I had fairly constant contractions with breaks of half an hour to a few hours, during which I would nap and during which one particularly lovely and attentive nurse brought me lavender and eucalyptus scented hot water.
After this gruelling induction and contractions that lasted for the better part of two days, I was finally given permission to push the baby, though pushing wasn’t nearly as self-explanatory as I would have assumed. I was told to get in one very specific position for it. Since I’m dyspraxic, the instructions had to be given over and over for me to get them, and the various residents and doctors were getting frustrated with me.
AFTER 36 HOURS, MY SON WAS BORN
via C-section on April 18th, I had very little milk coming in and had to continuously use a pump in order to increase my milk supply (something I continued needing to do for 2 months). I was told to hold my son in what is referred to as a “football hold”, which nurses kept having to explain and demonstrate to me.
Since, as a dyspraxic, I have a hard time following physical directions on the first try. It was a rocky road, but eventually (helped by my mother-in-law), I ended up being able to breastfeed for 13 months. That (and later breastfeeding my daughter) and successfully carrying two children to term are the physical activities I believe I’ve done best and which I recognise that my body, which is often the subject of my ire and disdain, dyspraxia and all, managed to pull off.
Thus began my journey into motherhood as a dyspraxic woman. I encountered more buttons and zippers in affordable baby clothes than I’d dealt with since elementary school, when I learned to avoid such impediments. I have long referred to situations like needing to squeeze in a crowded bus or subway car, or walk through a tiny restaurant, as being “dyspraxic nightmares.” My journey into motherhood continues with my two children as I navigate and adjust to loving two human beings with a body that doesn’t always follow my commands. The learning and the rewards are many.