I take another NMOSD victory lap as my ‘Tree Frog’ becomes a teen

Having neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder (NMOSD) means Mother’s Day hits me a little differently. It’s not just a holiday; it’s a milestone, a victory lap, and sometimes a quiet exhale of relief that I’ve made it to another year of being “Mom.”

This year feels especially meaningful, because my daughter — our tiny baby we used to nickname Tree Frog, with her long limbs that once dangled over our arms as we held her — heads to high school in September. High school. I still can’t say it without blinking a few extra times.

She’s almost as tall as me now, which has turned our hugs into a strange mix of heartwarming and mildly alarming. One minute I’m pulling her in for a comforting squeeze, and the next I’m wondering when she became a small tree. It’s like hugging a younger, more flexible version of myself who somehow knows more about pop culture than I ever will.

And then there’s the technology. This child teaches me things every single day. I used to think I was reasonably competent, especially working in the digital space, until she started sentences with, “Mom, you can just swipe from the corner.”

She navigates devices like she was born with a touchscreen in her hand, while I’m still trying to figure out where my screenshots keep disappearing to. But she never makes me feel silly. She just laughs, shows me again, and moves on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Recommended Reading

April 24, 2026 News by Andrea Lobo

Older age at NMOSD onset may raise disease relapse risk

When the change happened

When exactly this shift happened, I don’t know. Sometimes I blame my challenged vision from optic neuritis attacks, but no, apparently a lot of app navigation is “natural,” a skill I seem to have misplaced somewhere between 2010 and now.

Technology isn’t the only domain she’s taken over. There’s also our shared girl bathroom, which has slowly transformed into her bathroom with a small corner reserved for me out of pity. My makeup mysteriously migrates to her side of the counter, where it lives a more exciting life than I do. Lip glosses vanish. Blushes relocate. Brushes multiply, but never in my drawer. She’ll stroll out with a perfectly blended look and casually say, “This blush color looks better on me,” as if she didn’t just raid my entire cosmetic ecosystem that was carefully (and with great expense) put together by a kind woman at Sephora. I’ve accepted that I now live with a part-time makeup thief and full-time beauty consultant.

But what really gets me, what undoes me in the best way, is her empathy. Teenagers aren’t exactly known for their emotional bandwidth, but she has this instinctive kindness that feels like a gift I don’t remember ordering. She understands my condition in a way that’s both mature and heartbreakingly gentle. When NMOSD steals my energy or derails our plans, she doesn’t pout or guilt-trip me. She just shrugs, says “It’s OK, Mom,” and suggests something we can do while I rest. She forgives before I even finish apologizing.

Stepping up when your body steps out

That kind of compassion is rare. And it’s one of the reasons I want other NMOSD patients who dream of having kids to know this: It can be an incredible journey. But — and this is a big but — you need the right partner and the right support network. You need someone who’s comfortable being a single parent sometimes, because NMOSD doesn’t care about schedules or birthdays or ballet exams. You need people who can step in when your body steps out. You need a solid foundation, something I’m always emphasizing to other families in my circle.

We might not have the biggest home, the fanciest car(s), or the constant family vacations to exotic locations, but what we do have is an unbreakable foundation, something I can confidently say because NMOSD has put this family to the test. With a solid foundation, parenthood can be one of the most joyful, hilarious, soul-expanding experiences you’ll ever have.

So, I’m grateful for my daughter, who is growing into a tall, tech-savvy, empathetic force of nature. Grateful for the people who help me show up as her mom, even on the days when NMOSD tries to take the wheel. And grateful that I get to celebrate another year of motherhood, even when it’s messy, unpredictable, and exhausting.

If you’re an NMOSD patient wondering whether this life is possible, I hope you find the courage to explore it. It’s not easy. But it’s worth every unexpected twist. Because one day, you might find yourself being hugged by a nearly grown human who towers over you slightly, steals your makeup, takes over your bathroom, and still calls you Mom. Trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.

Note: Neuromyelitis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health providers with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Neuromyelitis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder.