At twenty-two weeks, the doctor said he'd be born with a cleft lip.

The Moskowitzes spent the remaining time being bombarded with information from plastic surgeons, worrying about a million things, all the while wondering if they'd done something wrong.

As soon as he was born, the nurse held him back. "Let me hold him," demanded Mrs. Moskowitz. They wanted to prepare her for it. She didn't care.

Because when she took her son into her arms, seeing the gap on his upper lip, she knew how unimportant that was then. She looked at her husband and declared, "He's adorable."