In my early 20s, I finally cracked escalators. I had known for some time how to do them, but the confidence to jump on to a moving staircase had finally come. I was born without legs, so when I’m out in public I always wear artificial ones and use crutches to walk. I remember shutting my eyes as I reached for the bannister and letting myself drop down, praying I would land on one step rather than two. I stayed upright. I was fine – and, just like that, I was away. No longer did I have to plan my journeys into London via the few underground stations with lifts. It was my Everest and I was happy.

So that was it, I had now achieved every physical challenge I planned to. I was working, driving and living on my own, with the days of learning how to walk, climb stairs and get on buses all behind me. And yet just over 10 years later, someone came along to show me that there were more challenges to be overcome – and quickly. His name was Joseph and he is my son, born in August last year. He doesn’t care that I was born without legs, but he does want me to feed him, carry him, comfort him and play with him.

So along with discussing which shade of yellow to paint the nursery and the merits or otherwise of blackout curtains, Joseph’s mum and I sought solutions for some of the other problems. The advice and help is out there, but it is not always easy to find. Even when I did find help, I spent more time than I would have liked discussing my showering and toileting habits with the social worker. He had a form to fill in. There was no obvious box for someone who has a disability and can look after himself, but needs help looking after someone else.

At home, I’ve never worn my artificial legs, preferring to get around without them. I would have been happy to find a physical reason why I was unable to change nappies, but we have changing mats, wipes and nappy bags all readily available at floor level, so no excuses there.

Anyone who has had a baby will know how much kit they come with. It turns out that being a parent with no legs just means having more kit. At the low end of the scale, I initially used a bucket tray on wheels, stuffed with a changing mat for comfort. If I put the baby in the bucket tray, I could push him from room to room. It was a highly effective and cheap solution and Joseph found it fun.

As for the high end, I was very grateful for the effort, thought and funding that went into producing a special chair that I keep by Joseph’s cot. The chair, which is moulded to fit my torso, is powered to lift me from floor level to above the cot and, strapped in with Velcro, I can tilt myself almost 30 degrees, so that I can safely pick up the baby with both hands. It is very clever and a real game-changer, allowing me to care for my child in our home alone. At first, Joseph was less grateful – regularly bursting into tears at the sound of the Velcro strapping being ripped apart. I tried ripping it slowly and softly, getting it over with as quickly as possible, even singing over the noise. Eventually, he got used to it.

Occasionally, I have managed to carry Joseph outside. I have tried using a baby carrier a few times; I strapped him on me while we were on the floor and then tried to get myself into my legs, but Joseph was blocking my view, which made it very tricky. I managed, but it was more luck than judgment. I also have a special jogger contraption – designed for keen keep-fit parents – that attaches to the buggy, so I can push it using my stomach. We also road-tested a baby carrier that goes on your back, and Joseph loved being able to hit me over the head while I stomped around. Unfortunately, I couldn’t put the carrier on or take it off without help so it has limited use.

Not everything has worked and not everything will. When a baby cries, often the fastest way to comfort it is to walk around with it. I can’t do that quickly, it takes too long to get Joseph to my electric chair and if we’re not at home I can’t do it at all. I’m happy handing him over to his mum, but when others jump in to take over, I do find it difficult. I know that’s a selfish response, but it’s also an honest one. There are other times when we’re all out together and I’m in my artificial legs and he’ll hold out his arms for a cuddle. He doesn’t understand that if there’s nothing for me to balance against I can’t safely hold him. The innocence he has that I can always look after him is amazing. The reality frustrates me, as does the knowledge that his innocence will go.

The day I first successfully jumped on an escalator, I knew I would have the confidence to keep getting on and off them. Gaining the confidence was the key; so however high they are or short the runup is I know I can manage them. Looking after Joseph is more changeable. We have just celebrated his first birthday and, as he grows, some issues fall away and other challenges emerge. He crawls now – so my bucket tray on wheels is no longer needed. He doesn’t always crawl in the direction I suggest, but kidnapping and holding his bunny comforter to ransom seems to work. I’m very eager for him to start walking and combine learning total obedience at the same time, so that we can go outside more easily together by ourselves. The mischievous looks he gives me suggest this may be wishful thinking.

Let the challenges keep coming. I jumped and we landed – we’ll be fine.

Richard tweets at @richpollins