Some Mothers Get Babies With Something More
Written by: Lori Borgman Columnist and Speaker
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.
Every mother wants so much more. She wants 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.
Yep. That's about it. I think the person who wrote this gets it. Someone else told me yesterday that they're amazed by me. And they have a child with a "problem". I walked through this journey knowing that this family had done it, done it well, and put their son first. That's all I tried to do. Do the best, put Joshua first, and stumble through the rest of the day.
I'm still stumbling through the day. But I think that's a human feeling. Not just a mum-to-a-special-baby feeling.
Had a rough night. Wasn't feeling great, and Oceana woke up early - like 5:00am or something insane like that. On Saturday morning no less. I got grumpy because she pulled her usual routine. The usual routine is a) tears b) screams c)reaching down my shirt to find her long-ago-friends and *pinching* d) kicking me e) doing her best to push me out of the bed. Do you see why I don't do well when she's in our bed? This is NORMAL. Argh! So around 6 I got up, yelled at her a bit (coz I was sick and grumpy), turned on the TV, got her weetbix and went back to sleep on the couch. (Found those weetbix crumbled across the floor, but oh well.... I got more sleep). And then the internet wasn't working when I got up. Horror of horrors. If only I knew that you have to push the "wireless" button to pick up the wireless. Argh. 20 minutes and 4x of resetting the modem to realize Matt just had to press a button the laptop. AAAAAAAAAAAAk! But it's all better now because I ate a brownie for breakfast. Shut up. I know. The 7-stickies. Shut up.