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As a former educator, I embarked on motherhood with the same dedication that fueled my academic pursuits. Excelling in my studies meant I was determined to excel in parenting as well. When I discovered I was expecting, I dove headfirst into a mountain of parenting literature, spending hours in the local bookstore surrounded by vibrant stacks of books covering everything from sleep techniques to feeding schedules.
With a background marked by a lack of maternal presence—my mother left when I was young—I yearned to create my own parenting philosophy. I found myself gravitating toward attachment parenting, a style that felt natural, although it contrasted sharply with my own upbringing. The journey into motherhood became an all-consuming passion.
I swaddled, sang, and soothed my daughter through her early years, nurturing her with music, literature, and nature. However, when she turned two, I faced a life-altering diagnosis—Crohn’s disease. Suddenly, all my preparation and research felt irrelevant. I struggled to manage my responsibilities as a mother.
“I just need a full night’s sleep,” I reassured my husband, dismissing the discomfort that plagued me. My daughter, born prematurely, had kept me awake for countless nights, and as I tried to meet her needs, my own health deteriorated. Eventually, I found myself in the hospital, unable to eat solid food and battling intense pain.
The doctors delivered the grim news: Crohn’s disease. With a handful of medications and a hope for remission, I was faced with a long recovery. Bedridden for months, I turned to writing, crafting articles for parenting magazines while my husband took over the bulk of the childcare. Writing became my lifeline, a way to maintain my identity as a mother despite the physical limitations I faced.
For a year, I observed life from a distance. I cherished the moments of cuddling with my daughter, even when it became physically challenging. We connected through stories, with me reading to her from bed and inventing tales that delighted her. My writing became a source of strength, allowing me to support and inspire other mothers, even as I struggled to engage physically with my own child.
As my health gradually improved, I grappled with feelings of guilt and inadequacy. Watching my daughter play with family members made me question my own role: Was I truly incapable of engaging with her, or was I simply afraid of the pain? The complexities of mothering weighed heavily on me.
Fast forward over a decade, and my daughters, now pre-teens, often snuggle beside me as they read their own stories aloud. There are days when I can only listen and share in their joy, and I find comfort in the bond we’ve built through words and cuddles. While I may not be the perfect parent I envisioned, I’ve learned that love, stories, and connection matter far more than perfection.
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In summary, living with Crohn’s disease has profoundly shaped my experience as a mother. While my physical limitations have altered the way I engage with my children, the love and connection we share remain resilient. It’s a reminder that parenting is not defined by perfection but by the bonds we create.