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thanks for posting!

>

> This was posted on another list I'm on & I thought it was so good,

I

> just had to share it.

> Here is to all you wonderful parents out there!

> *************

>

> Mothers of children with disabilities worthy of praise

> By Lori Borgman Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service

>

> Expectant mothers waiting for a newborn's arrival say they don't

> care what sex the baby is. They just want it to have ten fingers

and

> ten toes.

> Mothers lie.

>

> Every mother wants so much more. She wants a perfectly healthy baby

> with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes and

> satin skin. She wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the

> Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly.

>

> She wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first

> steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart on

> page 57, column two).

>

> Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire

> neurons by the billions.

> She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe

> points that are the envy of the entire ballet class. Call it greed

> if you want, but a mother wants what a mother wants. Some mothers

> get babies with something more.

>

> Maybe you're one who got a baby with a condition you couldn't

> pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome or a

> palette that didn't close. The doctor's words took your breath

away.

> It was just like the time at recess in the fourth

> grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked the

> wind right out of you.

>

> Some of you left the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months,

> even years later, took him in for a routine visit, or scheduled her

> for a well check, and crashed head first into a brick wall as you

> bore the brunt of devastating news.

>

> It didn't seem possible. That didn't run in your family. Could this

> really be happening in your lifetime?

>

> I watch the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely sculpted

> bodies. It's not a lust thing, it's a wondrous thing. They appear

as

> specimens without flaw -- muscles, strength and coordination all

> working in perfect harmony.

> Then an athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the

> contents and pulls out an inhaler.

>

> There's no such thing as a perfect body. Everybody will bear

> something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be

> apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly

> treated with trips to the doctor, therapy or

> surgery. Mothers of children with disabilities live the limitations

> with them.

>

> ly, I don't know how you do it. Sometimes you mothers scare

me.

> How you lift that kid in and out of the wheelchair twenty times a

> day. How you monitor tests, track medications, and serve as the

> gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear.

>

> I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, the well-

> intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've

> occasionally questioned if God is on strike.

>

> I even wonder how you endure chmaltzy columns like this one --

> saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you're

> ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for

> this, you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line

> yelling, " Choose me, God. Choose me! I've got what it takes. "

>

> You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things in

> perspective, so let me do it for you. From where I sit, you're way

> ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of a draft horse

> while holding onto the delicacy of a

> daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box

> in July, counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark

mule.

> You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a

> disability. You're a neighbour, a friend, a woman I pass at church

> and my sister-in-law. You're a wonder.

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I agree! Brought tears to my eyes and I have sent it to several

friends.

Beth

> >

> > This was posted on another list I'm on & I thought it was so

good,

> I

> > just had to share it.

> > Here is to all you wonderful parents out there!

> > *************

> >

> > Mothers of children with disabilities worthy of praise

> > By Lori Borgman Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service

> >

> > Expectant mothers waiting for a newborn's arrival say they don't

> > care what sex the baby is. They just want it to have ten fingers

> and

> > ten toes.

> > Mothers lie.

> >

> > Every mother wants so much more. She wants a perfectly healthy

baby

> > with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes and

> > satin skin. She wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity

the

> > Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly.

> >

> > She wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those

first

> > steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart

on

> > page 57, column two).

> >

> > Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire

> > neurons by the billions.

> > She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do

toe

> > points that are the envy of the entire ballet class. Call it

greed

> > if you want, but a mother wants what a mother wants. Some

mothers

> > get babies with something more.

> >

> > Maybe you're one who got a baby with a condition you couldn't

> > pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome or a

> > palette that didn't close. The doctor's words took your breath

> away.

> > It was just like the time at recess in the fourth

> > grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked

the

> > wind right out of you.

> >

> > Some of you left the hospital with a healthy bundle, then,

months,

> > even years later, took him in for a routine visit, or scheduled

her

> > for a well check, and crashed head first into a brick wall as

you

> > bore the brunt of devastating news.

> >

> > It didn't seem possible. That didn't run in your family. Could

this

> > really be happening in your lifetime?

> >

> > I watch the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely

sculpted

> > bodies. It's not a lust thing, it's a wondrous thing. They

appear

> as

> > specimens without flaw -- muscles, strength and coordination all

> > working in perfect harmony.

> > Then an athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the

> > contents and pulls out an inhaler.

> >

> > There's no such thing as a perfect body. Everybody will bear

> > something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be

> > apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly

> > treated with trips to the doctor, therapy or

> > surgery. Mothers of children with disabilities live the

limitations

> > with them.

> >

> > ly, I don't know how you do it. Sometimes you mothers scare

> me.

> > How you lift that kid in and out of the wheelchair twenty times

a

> > day. How you monitor tests, track medications, and serve as the

> > gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear.

> >

> > I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, the well-

> > intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've

> > occasionally questioned if God is on strike.

> >

> > I even wonder how you endure chmaltzy columns like this one --

> > saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know

you're

> > ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for

> > this, you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line

> > yelling, " Choose me, God. Choose me! I've got what it takes. "

> >

> > You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things

in

> > perspective, so let me do it for you. From where I sit, you're

way

> > ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of a draft

horse

> > while holding onto the delicacy of a

> > daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove

box

> > in July, counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark

> mule.

> > You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a

> > disability. You're a neighbour, a friend, a woman I pass at

church

> > and my sister-in-law. You're a wonder.

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