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It seems my daughter literally said, “I’ll make it up to you for the program you lost while carrying me,” my heart melted. Back when I started my PhD at UniAgric, I discovered I was pregnant, and the journey was a battle between life and death. I had to quit, prioritizing my health and the new life I was bringing into the world. Then she arrived such a peaceful child and I found the courage to start again.
The journey wasn’t easy. There were days I couldn’t pick her up from school, days she stayed with her uncle's wife, and days her aunty had to come over so I could focus on my studies. My research required constant travel across different states to collect data, but my daughter adapted to every situation with grace.
The day I defended my thesis, my daughter had a surprise waiting for me. She called me downstairs, and everyone followed out of curiosity. To my amazement, she handed me a bouquet of flowers sponsored by her big mommy. My heart melted I loved it deeply.
Later, when I arrived home from my convocation, my daughter, beaming her sweet smile and showing off her tiny teeth, shouted, “Dr. Mummy!” The crowd cheered, and then she added, “Mummy PhD!” sending everyone into fits of laughter. We hugged tightly, and I cherished the moment.
Ihotu loves telling random people that her mommy is a doctor. If they ask if I give injections, she quickly clarifies, “No, my mommy is an academic doctor, not the kind that gives injections.” I can’t help but smile at how proud and expressive she is.
Yesterday when we hosted family and friends to celebrate with me, my daughter was confused. “Mummy, have you opened a restaurant now? Why are you giving so many people food?” she asked. I laughed and explained that this was my version of graduation.
The journey wasn’t easy. There were days I couldn’t pick her up from school, days she stayed with her uncle's wife, and days her aunty had to come over so I could focus on my studies. My research required constant travel across different states to collect data, but my daughter adapted to every situation with grace.
The day I defended my thesis, my daughter had a surprise waiting for me. She called me downstairs, and everyone followed out of curiosity. To my amazement, she handed me a bouquet of flowers sponsored by her big mommy. My heart melted I loved it deeply.
Later, when I arrived home from my convocation, my daughter, beaming her sweet smile and showing off her tiny teeth, shouted, “Dr. Mummy!” The crowd cheered, and then she added, “Mummy PhD!” sending everyone into fits of laughter. We hugged tightly, and I cherished the moment.
Ihotu loves telling random people that her mommy is a doctor. If they ask if I give injections, she quickly clarifies, “No, my mommy is an academic doctor, not the kind that gives injections.” I can’t help but smile at how proud and expressive she is.
Yesterday when we hosted family and friends to celebrate with me, my daughter was confused. “Mummy, have you opened a restaurant now? Why are you giving so many people food?” she asked. I laughed and explained that this was my version of graduation.
It seems my daughter literally said, “I’ll make it up to you for the program you lost while carrying me,” my heart melted. Back when I started my PhD at UniAgric, I discovered I was pregnant, and the journey was a battle between life and death. I had to quit, prioritizing my health and the new life I was bringing into the world. Then she arrived such a peaceful child and I found the courage to start again.
The journey wasn’t easy. There were days I couldn’t pick her up from school, days she stayed with her uncle's wife, and days her aunty had to come over so I could focus on my studies. My research required constant travel across different states to collect data, but my daughter adapted to every situation with grace.
The day I defended my thesis, my daughter had a surprise waiting for me. She called me downstairs, and everyone followed out of curiosity. To my amazement, she handed me a bouquet of flowers sponsored by her big mommy. My heart melted I loved it deeply.
Later, when I arrived home from my convocation, my daughter, beaming her sweet smile and showing off her tiny teeth, shouted, “Dr. Mummy!” The crowd cheered, and then she added, “Mummy PhD!” sending everyone into fits of laughter. We hugged tightly, and I cherished the moment.
Ihotu loves telling random people that her mommy is a doctor. If they ask if I give injections, she quickly clarifies, “No, my mommy is an academic doctor, not the kind that gives injections.” I can’t help but smile at how proud and expressive she is.
Yesterday when we hosted family and friends to celebrate with me, my daughter was confused. “Mummy, have you opened a restaurant now? Why are you giving so many people food?” she asked. I laughed and explained that this was my version of graduation.
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