Last night little cries disrupted the heavy silence in our house.
Max was sick.
He fussed and moaned, unable to articulate what was wrong. A bad dream? You don’t feel good? Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave? How can I help? He twisted his little body and made uncharacteristic baby sounds until finally revealing that his throat was sore and he wanted me to stay. I gave him a little ginger-honey elixir to calm him down, and curled my body around his.
Daddy came in to offer his love, but it was mama who was called to duty.
Max’s face was inches away from mine. Wide brown eyes stared at me in the dark room, made darker by the storms outside. His little body was covered in the uniform of a superhero: Batman pajamas. Underneath those he wore the lightening bolt underpants of The Flash.
But a little boy is not a superhero.
His eyes searched mine until he was certain I wouldn’t leave. His body wiggled as close to mine as he could get. A startling thought crossed my mind:
He thinks I am a superhero. He thinks I have magical powers.
I am constantly surprised by my ability to mother. I am not magical. I don’t have all the answers. For the first few minutes he was crying, I couldn’t figure out what to do. He was acting differently, and rejected my normal responses. Eventually, I just picked a direction and guided us there.
It worked.
He closed his eyes to sleep and became a baby again.
I stared into the darkness for a long time as I held him, searching.
Searching.
Where is the magic? Where are the superheroes?
How do we always manage to find what we need,
even in the darkness?
How tender. Moms do have a super power- it’s called mother’s love. It the strongest force we feel in the universe, permeating every fiber of our being and helps us feel safe and secure.