Fit to be a mother

I didn't start off being pregnant with too many pre-conceived ideas, but there were a few things that I knew for certain ...

If I had had a disabled child then it wouldn't have been pushed around in one of those horrible blue and white striped buggies until it was 37 (they are easier for parents, not the young person). My baby would have had a really trendy chair from the youngest age, wheelies would have been encouraged, and any attempt to put a tartan knee blanket on would have resulted in a bonfire.

And the final thing I believe is that any parent of a disabled child who dresses their children like frumpy 80-year-olds should be locked away, because that excludes them from society.

Lots of people I didn't know felt the need to point out to me that being pregnant and disabled was bordering on being irresponsible. What is it about being pregnant that gives people the right to ask incredibly personal questions? I don't think that being disabled, in this case, makes any difference.

Most people didn't have the nerve to ask the questions that they really wanted to: "What will happen if it's the same as you?" was a favourite. Oddly, not one single person found it funny when I replied that it was unlikely that the baby would have been born at the age of 31 and as a successful international athlete, although secretly we were hoping it would be the case as I could then retire.

What they really meant was what would happen if the baby were born disabled, only this would have been just a little too personal. But cloaking it in that way didn't hide what I knew they were thinking for one second.

It was a similar thing to when people told my parents that it was really 'nice' that I was marrying another disabled person, because we could 'look after each other'. I always took this as meaning that we were saving two non-disabled people from being dragged down to our level.

We are lucky in so far as most people don't realise that BOTH of us are disabled. Ian injured his back in a cycling accident at 21, but walks with a wobbly limp so he isn't a proper crip.

The consequences of having a disabled child were never far from my thoughts. I lived on folic acid and ate all the right foods. I also had as many scans as I could, but mostly so that I would be able to make an informed decision. And we did think about the potential implications and outcomes, both for the family and for me, as I wanted to come out of it in one piece.

The funniest thing I had to deal with was an astute stranger literally stopping in her tracks (I never realised this was possible) and pointing at my 7-month pregnant stomach while shouting at me, "You're pregnant!"

With a puzzled look on her face, she then had the audacity to ask me, "How did you get pregnant?"

I don't think I gave her the answer she was looking for. I told her that I had had sex with my husband. My only excuses are that my hormones were racing when she asked and, quite frankly, I was fed up of having to deal with people asking me stupid questions.

The look of shock/horror on her face was hysterical, but as my mother always told me, "if you don't like the answer you shouldn't have asked the question". The stranger then told me she thought I was disgusting.

I always thought that being a tough athlete I would never be one of those sad parents who thinks their child is the most beautiful in the world ... but it's OK because Carys is the most beautiful child in the world, so I don't need to feel silly or guilty.

When it comes down to practicals, Carys has had to learn to do things differently. She has had to be a little more independent because I am a wheelchair user.

She wore dungarees for the first 18 months, so I could grab her by the straps. She also learnt very quickly that to get away from me all she has to do is sit underneath the dining room table.

Carys has experienced a few pitying glances from people who will never understand that I can be a good mother. On several occasions in the supermarket, when she has been putting cans in the trolley and has been told "isn't it nice that you help Mummy?", I have refrained from shouting "I can do it my bloody self! This is a game we play!" I just wait for them to go.

So what if Carys helps me? I help her too. My only wish is that I could experience a huge hormone rush without being pregnant, because then I wouldn't just smile nicely, I would tell people what I really think - and I don't think it would be too polite.