My best friend in elementary school had arthrogriposis. That's a genetic disease that left her with shortened arms, malformed hands and wide flat feet. She had to have a lot of operations, needed help dressing, and couldn't wear fancy shoes. (She was into Birkenstocks way before anyone else!) She was a vivacious, sweet, bright, and as she grew older, sexy young woman. I remember one time sitting in her room where she said, "About once a year, I have a temper tantrum about my hands; otherwise, that's just the way I am."

Now my daughter has a handicap. I rarely think of it that way. She has celiac disease; she can't eat gluten; ok, we work around it. We have no trouble finding or making substitutes. We have gluten-free animal cookies, chocolate cupcakes with pink icing, pizza, pasta shaped like stars and rocketships, ice-cream cones, ice cream and so much more.

But every once in awhile, and twice today, Rose rails against being gluten-free.

At breakfast, she told me the problem was she couldn't tell the gluten-free bread from the gluten bread and wanted me to explain it to her in a nice voice. Did I speak sharply once when I saw her reach for gluten bread? I have no memory of this, but her memory is better than mine. I promised to help her figure out the difference.

At lunch, she saw me eating pizza, and said again how she didn't want to be gluten-free. Her voice was so sad.

I tell her I know you don't want to be gluten free. I tell her Grammy is gluten-free and Uncle Michael, and lots of other people. I tell her some people are egg-free and some people are chocolate-free; we all have different bodies. I tell her they are working on a pill, and I hope one day she can eat gluten. I distract her.

It hurts. It makes me sad. It's not going to go away.