I read this today on the CDO support group

> Mothers Lie> By Lori Borgman> > Expectant mothers waiting for a newborn's arrival say they don't care> what> sex the baby is. They just want 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 palate 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 him for a> checkup, 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?> > 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.> > > Frankly, 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 schmaltzy 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 the 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 neighbor, a friend, a woman I pass at church and my sister-> in-law.> > You're a wonder.> > > Lori Borgman is a syndicated columnist and author of All Stressed Up> and No Place To Go