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I am a below knee amputee. More importantly, I am also Mommy to two boys, a very active 10 year old (Robby) and an mischievous toddler (Timmy). I have learned that being a parent with a disability can create some unusual and sometimes humorous situations. This blogger is available for hire! Let's talk and learn how a blog can expand your business.

Thursday, February 25, 2016


I don't need to be reminded that I'm an older Mom. My back creaks as a not so gentle reminder of my age every morning when I try to roll out of bed. I have gone from dyeing my hair for fun to desperately seeking a shade that will cover the grey. I overhear conversations of younger moms at the toddler playground. They are concerned about what to wear when they go drinking on Friday night because it has been a long time since they were able to "chill and dance." Meanwhile, the last time I danced it was to "Funky Town" in the kitchen with Timmy. I'm worried about whether or not the new wrinkle cream I bought was worth the $30 investment, I certainly don't relate to the debate over the $150 bra. 

Yesterday with Hamlet in tow, I was picking up a few things at the grocery store. My little guy entertained himself by waving and singing to anybody who happened to glance in his direction. His smile certainly does light up a room and can turn over the scowl of the grumpiest shopper. Checking out, the cashier remarked that I have a "gorgeous granddaughter." 

Seriously? I get that I'm older, but a grandmother?  And Timmy is a boy, not a girl. As I was lifting him out of the cart, his hair became snagged in the seat. Needless to say, I realized that the stars had aligned for me to do something I have been dreading: Timmy needed a haircut. 

Not wanting to lose my nerve, I drove directly to the barber. They were just unlocking the door when I pulled into the parking lot. With nobody else in the shop, I was thankful for small miracles. If he screamed, at least the disruption would be minimal. 

If I were to be completely honest, I would have to admit part of me dreaded his haircut because it is another sign that he is growing up. My sweet little baby boy is now a precocious toddler, inquisitive and into everything. Cutting his hair was the final transition between baby and toddler.

It turns out that my worrying was for naught. Timmy handled his first haircut like a champ, and he is even more adorable with his shaggy new do! My anxiety about his possibly crying kept my emotions at bay, so I didn't shed a tear either. Now that I have handled the confusion about his gender, maybe it is time for me to figure out how to address the grandma issue.

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