BEFORE I WAS A MOM...
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom
I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put him down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make
me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every
10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache,
the wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was a Mom.


A Wonderfully Written Piece About
Raising A Child With A Disability

"Welcome To Holland"
By Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel.  It's like this......When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy.  You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum.  The Michelangelo David.  The gondolas in Venice.  You may learn some handy phrases in Italian.  It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives.  You pack your bags and off you go.  Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland.""Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy!  I'm supposed to be in Italy.  All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy." But there's been a change in the flight plan.  They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease.  It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language.  And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place.  It\'s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy.  But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips.  Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there.  And for the rest of your life, you will say \"Yes, that\'s where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."  And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever  go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.




My Premature Mother-In-Law Moment
A mom reflects on a little boy's love
April 23rd 2008 By Stacey DuFord
Metro Parent Contributing Writer

My son, Beau, was 3 years old the first time he said he was going to marry me. I hate to admit it, but I was flattered. He kept at it, insisting every day that we would, eventually, be wed. I tried to explain to him that I was already married to Daddy, but that was too much for him to comprehend.

When he was 4, another round of marriage talk began - complete with proposals. I'm not sure which TV show he got it from, but he frequently ended up on one knee, grandly taking my hand and formally asking "Will you marry me?" In fairness, I have to disclose that he also proposed to his sister, all of his babysitters and his preschool teacher. Again, I insisted that I was already married.

"No, you're not," he said. "You've never been a beautiful princess."

Out came the wedding album to prove my "princess" status.

He started up again at age 5. I had to resort to telling him that it was against the law and we would go to jail if we got married. He was determined to find a way around the law. "What if you and Daddy get unmarried?" I assured him that he and I still could not get married.

A few weeks ago Beau, now in the first grade, asked, "What if we were the type of family where you and Daddy weren't married, but Alicia and I were still your children?"

I wondered where this new line of questioning had come from. Perhaps at school he'd become aware of the many types of family households: divorced couples, same-sex couples, single parents ...

So, I gave him my best politically-correct answer by explaining that there are all kinds of families, and as long as they love each other and take care of each other, that any kind of family is OK.

"If we were that kind of family, then could I marry you?"

It was then that I started to understand why mothers-in-law can get so territorial about their sons. I have never been pursued so relentlessly or so adoringly in my life. And while I know my son's proposals are as innocent as they are preposterous, his steadfast sweetness in courting me makes realize how hard it will be to see him with his "true" love.

It won't be that he has doesn't adore me anymore; I'm sure we'll be long past that stage. And it won't be that he has chosen someone else; I want him to find someone wonderful. No, it will be the moment when they walk in the door and she has that proprietary look on her face - that smug look that says she understands him like I never will.

I know that moment is at least 15 years away, and yet ... I am already wondering how I am going to keep myself from (gently) pulling her aside, presumably to show her my garden or collection of antique clocks, and saying "You know, you're not the first woman he wanted to marry."

- This article originally appeared in the April 2008 edition of Metro Parent.





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