“Mom!” my daughter shouted from her car seat during our drive. She was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t catch a word.
I turned off the music, closed the windows, and asked, “What’s that?” for what felt like the third time.
“Something I can’t understand!” she replied, her voice tinged with frustration.
After a few more rounds of this confusing exchange, I finally called back, “Mommy can’t hear you!”
In that moment, I confronted one of my deepest fears: the realization that I was struggling to hear my child.
Since I was eight years old, I’ve relied on hearing aids. My hearing loss isn’t due to a genetic issue but rather nerve damage with no clear cause. These small devices help me navigate the world of sound, which can otherwise feel like a muffled echo. While I’ve mostly accepted my hearing aids, the thought of becoming a parent brought about a new wave of anxiety. It wasn’t about passing on my hearing loss but rather the fear of missing out on my child’s early sounds and cries.
Despite my family’s support, the anxiety grew stronger following my daughter’s birth. I felt an overwhelming need to hear every coo and cry. If my husband could hear it, I wanted to hear it too. He urged me to trust him and sleep without my hearing aids, but I just couldn’t comply. It didn’t matter that our daughter was peacefully sleeping in a bassinet right beside me; my need for control was too strong. I couldn’t rely on anyone else, even if I knew my husband had exceptional hearing.
As we moved our daughter to her crib down the hall, she adjusted effortlessly, while I found myself becoming increasingly anxious. I continued to sleep with one hearing aid in and set up a video and sound monitor. The device was bright and loud, making rest challenging for both of us. My husband could hear the high-frequency sounds that I was oblivious to.
After six months of this exhausting routine, I finally let go of some control, realizing I had to trust my husband’s ability to listen for us both. I knew he had our daughter’s best interests at heart.
Now that my daughter is three, her curiosity about my hearing aids has intensified. We have honest conversations about them. I remind her not to touch my hearing devices because it can be painful when she plays with them. I explain that these little gadgets help me hear what she hears, emphasizing their importance.
As we enter this new phase of dialogue, the stakes feel higher, and the challenges have become more pronounced. When she tries to express herself and I can’t catch every word, I experience a whirlwind of emotions—frustration that can quickly shift to anger, which then transforms into sadness and ultimately fear.
Fear of missing out on significant moments.
Despite the challenges, I strive to make the best of my situation and maintain open communication about my hearing difficulties with my daughter. I practice lip reading and encourage her to look at me when she speaks. The added benefit is that I get to enjoy her enthusiastic storytelling, even if it comes with some enthusiastic spit flying my way.
Having a hearing impairment does not diminish my ability to parent or listen. It doesn’t affect my capacity to be the mother my child needs. Yes, there are moments of frustration, but we manage to navigate them together. While I may not catch everything my daughter says, I remain determined to be the mom she deserves, with or without my hearing aids. If you’re looking for more information on navigating parenthood with hearing issues, consider checking out this post or visiting Make a Mom for authoritative insights. For further resources, CCRM IVF offers excellent guidance on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, parenting with hearing aids comes with its unique set of challenges, but with determination and communication, these hurdles can be overcome. Embracing this journey allows for a deeper connection with my child, regardless of my hearing limitations.