I’ve blogged before about having celiac disease, and since my diagnosis I have worried about giving this to my children. I got lucky with the first two, and so far they have remained clear; I didn’t get so lucky with my third.
My sweet little Evee is my mini-me. Her face is so much like mine and she is even a holy terror toddler just like me. She inherited my dislike for waking up in the morning, my expressive face, my eyes, and my spunk. Unfortunately, she also inherited this not so fun disease.
Having a child with celiac disease (especially a toddler) presents so many challenges. We have been able to work through these pretty nicely so far. We always have back up treats and snacks ready to go, and she has never minded eating skittles instead of birthday cake and gold fish puffs instead of pretzels (we do bring the gluten free version of many things when we get a heads up 🙂 ), so really the only problem so far is me.
The problem is the guilt. I feel terribly responsible for her struggle–a struggle which is workable but carries with it an inability to go out and be like everyone else. I worry about parties and dates and church trips and college. None of it will be the same for my daughter. I can cushion her here and there, but she will always be different.
In some ways I am grateful because I realize it could be something much worse, but I can’t change that pang of guilt every time I have to explain to her that she can’t have that cookie sample at the store or the crackers at the soccer game or the doughnuts at the party.
For now, we take it one day at a time, and I take comfort in knowing at least she has me around to help her. I even hold out hope for a cure one day. But if not, I hope this makes her better. And in spite of it all I see a pretty great future ahead.