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Contributed by Nancy

(August, 1995)

Now that my children (very able-bodied) are 9, 7, and 3, two boys and a girl, I have three sets of toddlerhood experiences to share. I have cerebral palsy and use a power wheelchair. My husband is able-bodied. We live in an inner-city environment, complete with heavily trafficked streets to run into, street people and drunks to navigate, used condoms, cigarette butts, and occasional syringes to pick up, and row house/English basement steps to explore.

First of all, like virtually all effects of disability, the most important aspect of this issue to manage is the attitude-perception problem with passersby and society in general. Therefore, semantics are very important. We have never never never used "the L word" about the chest harness system we used. It was the Mommy Walker, and its use explained as to keep Mommy with the child to prevent falling or getting lost. When passersby, all too frequently, give negative reactions or use "the L word" we assertively name it as the Mommy Walker and reassure the observer that it keeps Mommy close. If there is still a negative response (in front of the child) I ask if their children use car seat belts and whether their children ever ran into the street. We have not viewed it as restraining the child, nor allowed others to poison our children's perceptions, and none of our three children did either. It was always a condition of getting to walk with Mommy, and the choice of lap-riding was always open. Just as we structure other choices as the parent in charge, like red shirt/blue shirt instead of throwing open the closet, we have given legitimate but appropriate choices under the circumstances.

The context of using the Mommy Walker is also very important. It was a temporary expedient and a developmental stage in the continuum of relaxing controls over the child as he is able to demonstrate competence, impulse control, attention span, etc. just like any other aspect of parenting for any parent, including able-bodied parents. We just have a few extra considerations as a family, including my limitations. A very short person (toddler) holding my hand ends up too close to the chair and her feet end up under my tire.

The progression of logistics for our kids went through predictable stages: In the first, Snuggly, stage, the newborn would be put into the Snuggly by an able-handed helper, either before or after I had wriggled into it. Once the baby was in the Snuggly, usually facing out instead of towards me, I became adept at wriggling in and out of the occupied Snuggly. The Snuggly also served as a baby-handling device, because I could lift the baby by the Snuggly with his head thus supported; this has been very helpful for breasfeeding, to burp and change sides.

At the second, advanced-Snuggly, stage, the crawler-early-walker was securely fastened to me by riding on my lap within the Snuggly, over my seat belt to secure me to the chair. This left my hands free for driving the chair and kept her feet off the chair's joystick; hands were another matter, but at least we both had two hands.

At the third, steady-toddler, stage, the children had the choice of riding in my lap, with seat belt extended to reach around both of us, or the Mommy Walker tethered to the arm rest of the chair. I found it easier to keep the tether untangled if it was not attached to my hand, and my own balance and maneuvering ability less hampered than having my arm pulled the toddler's direction. We never considered the button-release kind, because all of our kids learned the tension of the elastic tether and that the limits were predictable; I would not have disrupted that by shortening the tether arbitrarily. All of our children disliked the wrist tether, and felt less confined by the chest harness.

At the fourth, preschooler, stage, the Mommy Walker was unnecessary as they listened better, followed directions, controlled impulses. However, a definite gender split emerged. Both boys would occasionally ride on my lap without external (seat belt) control, either "the lap way" (face forward) or "the hug way" (facing me) Their preference, however, was to stand on the wheelchair's back battery box and hold onto the chair handles, Ben Hur style. For several years Rick did this while 2-year-younger toddler Robert rode on my lap, and they would both carry on separate conversations in close proximity on either side of me! I remember one Christmas season singing carols in transit to avoid the cacophony. When Rick, the oldest, was 4, a power struggle started to develop as I tried to get him to not be "babied" by riding Ben-Hur style, as he refused to actually walk when he was with me. I tried to defuse this by waiting until he started "big-boy-school" in Pre-K, thinking he would not want to look little around the bigger kids. This strategy, to my surprise, back-fired when peer pressure went the other way when all the kids thought the speed and movement of the chair was cool, and I had to turn down requests from other kids. We then set a family rule that they (our own kids only) could ride as much as they wanted until they turned five. On the other hand, our daughter has had much better impulse control at a younger age, and walks with me quite well, holding either my hand or the chair arm. When she is tired or wants to be babied, her response is to manipulate my husband into a "carry Daddy."

At their current ages, the boys usually walk on either side, holding the chair arms, while Susie generally rides on my lap. In their continual sibling rivalry, the boys fight over who gets to hold my "good" (non-joystick) hand. When we are dressed up, going to church or dinner at Grandpa's, the effect is rather like little Secret Service agents running along side my fenders.

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