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Some Mothers Get Babies With Something Morewritten by: Lori Borgman Columnist and SpeakerMy friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what shewants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answermothers have given throughout the ages of time. She says it doesn'tmatter whether it's a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have tenfingers and ten toes. Of course, that's what she says. That's whatmothershave always said. Mothers lie.Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every motherwants a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips,button nose, beautiful eyes and satin skin.Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity theGerber baby for being flat-out ugly.Every mother wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take thosefirst steps right on schedule (according to the baby developmentchart on page 57, column two). Every mother wants a baby that cansee, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants akid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points thatare the envy of the entire ballet class.Call it greed if you want, but we mothers want what we want.Some mothers get babies with something more.Some mothers get babies with conditions they can't pronounce, aspine thatdidn't fuse, a missing chromosome or a palette that didn't close.Most ofthose mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they werewearingand the color of the walls in the small,suffocating room where thedoctoruttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recessin thefourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knockedthewind clean out of you.Some mothers leave the hospital with a healthy bundle, then,months, even years later, take him in for a routine visit, orschedule her for a well check, and crash head first into a brick wallas they bear the brunt of devastating news. It can't be possible!That doesn't run in our family. Can this really be happening in ourlifetime?I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeingfinelysculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing; it's a wondrous thing. Theathletesappear as specimens without flaw - rippling muscles with nary anounce offlab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbsworking inperfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustlesthroughthe contents and pulls out an inhaler.As I've told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy aftera third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram,there's no such thing as a perfect body.Everybody will bear something at some time or another. Maybe theaffliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will beunseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, medication orsurgery. The health problems our children have experienced have beenminimaland manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admirationthemothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how theydo it.ly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child inand out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, trackmedications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundredspecialists yammering in your ear. I wonder how you endure theclichés andthe platitudes, well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at workwhenyou've occasionally questioned if God is on strike. I even wonderhow youendure schmaltzy pieces like this one -- saluting you, painting youas heroand saint, when you know you're ordinary. You snap, you bark, youbite. Youdidn't volunteer for this. You didn't jump up and down in themotherhoodline yelling, "Choose me, God! Choose me! I've got what it takes."You're awoman who doesn't have time to step back and put things inperspective, so,please, let me do it for you.From where I sit, you're way ahead of the pack. You've developed thestrength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of adaffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove boxin July, carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of anOzark mule. You can be warm and tender one minute, and whencircumstances require intense and aggressive the next. You are themother, advocate and protector of a child with a disability. You're aneighbor, a friend, a stranger I pass at the mall. You're the womanI sitnext to at church, my cousin and my sister-in-law. You're a womanwho wantedten fingers and ten toes, and got something more.You're a wonder.

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