She had imagined the hard parts of new motherhood would be sleepless nights, cluster feedings, the endless debate over cloth versus disposable. Instead, the real battle was against a body that felt like it was shutting down one muscle at a time. The dull ache in her thigh grew into a constant, searing presence, stealing strength from her legs, then her arms, then the simple motions of cradling her daughter.
Doctors at first blamed pregnancy, hormones, stress. She blamed herself for not being tougher, for not “bouncing back.” But scans and tests finally named what she was facing: an illness that would not be fixed by rest or time. In the shock that followed, she made a quiet decision. If she could not be the mother who ran and lifted and did it all, she would be the mother who loved ferociously from whatever chair, bed, or wheelchair the future demanded.
