Not until reading Alison Kafer's temporal definitions of crip did I recognize the crippling nature of motherhood. I also recently read a Buzzfeed article in which parents anonymously shared their experiences of being super unhappy as parents. Both notions, that motherhood is somehow crippling and that people could not like their children or could be unhappy in parenthood both feel taboo and dangerous realms. Yet there is value in cripping motherhood in that it expands crip theory and disrupts the binary of (dis)ability which rests comfortably, for the public at large, in the bookends of permanently able-bodied and (dis)able-bodied.
Temporality
Kafer writes about how social and cultural definitions of (dis)ability hold a "normal" standard of temporality. In that standard, people are punctual and the future for those with (dis)abilities is one of desired ability or none at all. What's more prenatal screening techniques stigmatize (dis)ability by giving parents the eugenicky option to terminate the gestation of fetuses with Down syndrome and other genetic (dis)abilities. Finally, sterilization, institutionalization, etc. are used to prevent crip folx from passing on their "inferiority". Crip folx, in Kafer's view, live lives anchored in the anxieties and intricacies of scheduling everything including bathroom trips and meals, or "eating and sleeping and shitting- and the ways in which they shape our days" (Kafer, 2013, p. 39). In this temporal view of crip life, the bodily needs take center stage and, without great care, may cause people to be late or miss out on mainstream definitions of "normal" life.
As I was lugging my reluctant toddler to the car and wrestling her into her car seat yesterday, I had a revelation. My front-loading language an hour ahead of our quick trip to the dollar store to buy her a balloon and bubbles, my conscientious scheduling of this trip in between meals and naps, my attention to whether she'd pooped or not, and so much more, ran parallel to the notion of temporality in crip theory. My life has been restrained and strained in the places where mothering interrupts normal attendance and where the mind is constantly focused on how to live in a time-driven world responsible for a human body that does not understand or respect time.
Mental Health Impairments
As a new mother, I was almost literally rendered (dis)abled by the toll which sleepless nights take on the body and mind and my painful and terrifying anxiety that my baby might literally die due to my action or inaction. During the first few weeks of my child's life, I lost my shit completely. I am the type of person that truly needs at least eight hours of sleep every night. Waking up every 2 hours to feed, dealing with feelings of inadequacy and frustration around difficult breastfeeding, and living in constant terror over my every move caused me to break down. I remember sitting in the office of the lactation consultant with my sister-in-law, husband, baby, and consultant (not that I'm religious but God bless her). They all had this look on their faces of a mix between sad puppy dog and disappointed parent. I could tell in the reflection of me in their eyes that something was not right. I started, embarrassedly, crying. They reflected back to me that I was so used to being in control of every aspect of my life, including my sleeping. They reminded me that I once took joy in mealtime and that I now had no appetite. In the same breath, they cautioned me that I needed to be eating to care for my child both physically (through my breastmilk) and emotionally. I confessed to them that every time I breastfed I felt a pit in my stomach, a lump in my throat. As I write this, I'm having a physical memory of those moments. I felt guilty for crying while breastfeeding because I did not want my child's mirror neurons to pick up on my utter sadness. In that office, under the fluorescent hospital lights and the gazes filled with care and fear, I got permission to let my husband and his sister bottle feed my baby so I could get some sleep. I got permission to drink Gatorade and the push to talk to a therapist who specialized in post-partum care.
As I write this, I recognize the innate medicalization of my experience which rendered my earliest post-partum days as crippling. In crip theory, the mere fact that motherhood was crippling to me through the recognition of my pain and sorrow by a medical expert (and now someone I consider a "soul sister") is not lost on me.
Physical Impairments
The actual physical impairments, which rendered my body temporarily incapable of certain physical activities following (and during) pregnancy, labor, and delivery hold an important place in how motherhood has been crippling. Let's start with the fact that I am an avid athlete. My mental and physical health depend on my outdoor recreation. I bike, run, ski, snowboard, hike, play roller derby, and am generally happiest after a vigorous workout. Yet during pregnancy, I put on weight early on; experienced pelvic symphysis, which felt like my pelvic bones were separating (because they were...); had debilitating back pain; and a numb left thigh (damn that was uncomfortable). Following labor and delivery, I experience the worst upper back pain of my life from engorged breasts, breastfeeding, and bending over constantly to tend to my little one. You know those awesome baby carriers that are the best way to help your newborn nap? They were excruciating for me. Since my baby was born, it has taken me almost two years (and a breast reduction surgery) to lose all but five stubborn pounds of baby weight, get more comfortable running (although I still cannot go the long distances I enjoyed pre-baby), and regain the strength that I had before motherhood.
Concluding Remarks
I would not trade motherhood for anything in the world. I am incredibly proud of what my body did and enamored with my child. My toddler walks, talks, has opinions, is assertive, and is super strong, agile, and daring. What this post reckons with is the notion that my life experiences, when considered through the lens of crip theory, allow me to draw parallels between the circumstances that deem certain bodies (dis)abled and other bodies abled. I cannot help but compare my own body to my fellow mothers. In a mountain town arguably obsessed with physical wellness, I feel like I am outside the norm in my bodily proportions. However unhealthy it may be, it is difficult to be satisfied with my body. Yet, writing this post provided me with important reflection on the ways in which my body is very abled and how temporary my own (dis)ability was. Even so, as I write this, my left arm has gone numb and my upper back screams for a stretch and a rub.
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