Guest guest Posted April 23, 2006 Report Share Posted April 23, 2006 Ladies, that was wonderful. I too also cried. I'm the mom who wanted something more as you said in this essay. I just wanted to have a baby with my husband and got much more then I bargened for. He's not here yet but will be in about 2 wks. Thanks for sharing that with us. God Bless You! mom to son Phoenix wrote: Thank you for sharing that. I just cried reading it (and I am the person who always deletes forwarded group e-mails)...I know so many amazing moms. I think I will send this to some. > > Just wanted to share this with all my clubfoot parent friends. I'm a sucker for these things. I added the lines in bold. > > Carol and > > Some Mothers Get Babies With Something More > written by: Lori Borgman > Columnist and Speaker > > My friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what she > wants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answer mothers have > given throughout the pages of time. She says it doesn't matter whether it's > a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have ten fingers and ten toes. > > Of course, that's what she says. That's what mothers have always said. > > Mothers lie. > > Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every mother wants > a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, > beautiful eyes, satin skin and straight feet. Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous > that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly. > > Every mother 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 we mothers want what we want. > > Some mothers get babies with something more. > > Some mothers get babies with conditions they can't pronounce, a spine > that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome, a palette that didn't close > or a tiny crooked foot or two. Most of those mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they were wearing and the color of the walls in the small, suffocating room where the > doctor uttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recess in > the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked > the wind 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, or schedule her for a > well check, and crash head first into a brick wall as 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 our lifetime? > > I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing > finely sculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing; it's a wondrous thing. The > athletes appear as specimens without flaw - rippling muscles with nary an ounce > of flab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbs > working in perfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles > through the contents and pulls out an inhaler. > > As I've told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy after a > third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram, there's no > such thing as a perfect body. Every body 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, medication > or surgery. The health problems our children have experienced have been > minimal and manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admiration the > mothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how they do > it. > > ly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child in > and out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, track > medications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists > yammering in your ear. > > I wonder how you endure the clich�s and the platitudes, 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 schmaltzy pieces 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, please, 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, > carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You can be > warm and tender one minute, and when circumstances require, intense and > aggressive the next. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a > child with a disability. You're a neighbor, a friend, a stranger I pass at > the mall. You're the woman I sit next to at church, my cousin and my > sister-in-law. You're a woman who wanted ten fingers and ten toes, and > got something more. You're a wonder. > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted April 24, 2006 Report Share Posted April 24, 2006 Congrats on your pregnancy, Kathleen! Kim leenernd wrote: Carol- Thank you so much for sharing this. I am at 22 weeks with my second pregnancy and it really touched my heart. All I could think of when david was born was the 10 toes and the 10 fingers-surprisingly he only got 9 of each!! I am going to share this essay with another mom I know who got " something more " . We are truly blessed to have our children! Thanks again for sharin, Kathleen mom to bcf fab 12/7 #2 Girl they say edd 9/1/06-straight tootsies so far > > Just wanted to share this with all my clubfoot parent friends. I'm a sucker for these things. I added the lines in bold. > > Carol and > > Some Mothers Get Babies With Something More > written by: Lori Borgman > Columnist and Speaker > > My friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what she > wants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answer mothers have > given throughout the pages of time. She says it doesn't matter whether it's > a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have ten fingers and ten toes. > > Of course, that's what she says. That's what mothers have always said. > > Mothers lie. > > Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every mother wants > a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, > beautiful eyes, satin skin and straight feet. Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous > that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly. > > Every mother 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 we mothers want what we want. > > Some mothers get babies with something more. > > Some mothers get babies with conditions they can't pronounce, a spine > that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome, a palette that didn't close > or a tiny crooked foot or two. Most of those mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they were wearing and the color of the walls in the small, suffocating room where the > doctor uttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recess in > the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked > the wind 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, or schedule her for a > well check, and crash head first into a brick wall as 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 our lifetime? > > I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing > finely sculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing; it's a wondrous thing. The > athletes appear as specimens without flaw - rippling muscles with nary an ounce > of flab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbs > working in perfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles > through the contents and pulls out an inhaler. > > As I've told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy after a > third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram, there's no > such thing as a perfect body. Every body 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, medication > or surgery. The health problems our children have experienced have been > minimal and manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admiration the > mothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how they do > it. > > ly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child in > and out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, track > medications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists > yammering in your ear. > > I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, 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 schmaltzy pieces 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, please, 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, > carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You can be > warm and tender one minute, and when circumstances require, intense and > aggressive the next. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a > child with a disability. You're a neighbor, a friend, a stranger I pass at > the mall. You're the woman I sit next to at church, my cousin and my > sister-in-law. You're a woman who wanted ten fingers and ten toes, and > got something more. You're a wonder. > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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