The other day I was at the zoo with the boys. It was a normal outting with the double stroller, Luke strapped onto my body in the ergo, and lots of luggage and supplies in tow. I’m sure it was hard to tell if we were a walking exhibit of the zoo or just visitors, but there was nothing out of the norm in my world.
The boys wanted to walk through the petting zoo and visit with the goats and an extremely old turtle. We get there and the guy says the stroller needs to be left outside and the boys would need to walk. No problem. I tell the boys to get out so we can go see the animals and one does so happily while the other decides he’s not interested in using his own legs right now and would rather use mine. After a few seconds of cajoling, I decided to assist them in hoisting themselves out of the stroller. Connor hops out excitedly while Ethan full on refuses to walk, so rather than dragging this out and causing a scene, I just decided to pick him up and hold him.
So I have Luke strapped to the front, Ethan on my left hip and I’m holding Connor’s hand. There’s a couple of blankets draped over my shoulders because of course we absolutely could not and would not ever leave our “B” alone. Its 90 degrees and I’m carrying 85 pounds of child. No biggy. We got this! We stroll through the gate to the goats and the worker looks at me as I, still holding Ethan in one arm, kneel down to help him pet a goat and says, “Wow, you look like super-mom right now!!”
I have to say it made me feel good and I did sort of feel a little super-momish that day; but the comment also made me think. What exactly is a Super-Mom? What qualifies someone to be deemed a super-mom? Who is Super-Mom?
I’ve thought about it and this is what I’ve decided.
She’s all of us! She’s the single mom with 3 kids, all in diapers. She’s the stay at home mom covered in spit up and poop wondering if she should be doing more with herself. She’s the working mother who slaves 40+ hours a week at an away job, missing her babies all day long and wondering if she’s doing the right thing, just to come home and slave away at home. She’s the exhausted, worried, stressed out woman trying to keep way too many balls in the air. She’s the woman who puts her children first, no matter what the cost is.
She’s the woman who hasn’t slept in years. She’s the woman who kisses boo boos and wipes tears. She’s the mother of teenagers who cries herself to sleep at night wondering where she went wrong. She’s the mom of grown children who has now become a grandmother. She’s the woman up all night with a colicky baby. She’s the breastfeeding mother who’s body is not her own. She’s the mother buying formula and diapers instead of shoes and clothes for herself. She’s the woman who questions every move she makes, praying she doesn’t screw up her kids forever by making a wrong choice.
She’s the weeping widow raising her children alone. She’s the pregnant girl scared to death of what’s to come. She’s the woman who hasn’t showered in days and only puts on make up in the parking lot of wherever she’s going right before she goes in. She’s the woman you judged because her kids were screaming all the way through the store. She’s the apparently flawless pinterest mom who seems to have it all together. She’s the woman who hates her body for what it looks like and loves her body all at the same time because of what miraculous things it has done.
She’s the woman who invests every spare moment into making sure her kids are on the right track. She’s the woman who never seems to have enough time for everything. She’s the woman packing lunches, washing clothes, and scrubbing floors. She’s the woman cleaning endless spills and breaking up fights. She’s the woman cooking and cleaning with one or several babies strapped to her body in some way or another. She’s the woman striving to teach her children good values and fostering their creativity. She’s the loudest cheerleader in the stand. The soccer mom in the mini van and the business woman on a plane.
She’s the throw up queen, the poop princess, the bedtime story champion, the tantrum fighting warrior. She’s the one up in the middle of the night tending to a rotation of needy babies. She’s the woman who never has any time to herself because she’d rather be with her kids anyway. She’s the teacher who doesn’t have children of her own but loves ours as if they were hers. She’s the woman who wonders if all she does goes unnoticed or matters to anyone. She’s the struggling girl working over time just so she can pay her bills and still feed her children. She’s the woman up late at night planning activities and packing bags for the next day’s events. She’s the tired mom who feels guilty for letting her kids watch too much tv.
She’s the grieving mother who had to bury her baby too soon. She’s the childless woman who can’t have children but aches for them in a way no one can understand unless they’ve been there. She’s the woman who adopted a child who’s mother couldn’t keep her. She’s the woman who was raped and ended up pregnant. She’s the woman who has loved and prayed for her children since she was a child.
She’s the woman who’s children run into her arms over anyone else’s. She’s the one her babies want and light up for when she enters the room. The one they say, “I love you” to. The one who’s kisses make everything better. The one who’s hand makes them feel brave. The one who’s heart beats outside her chest.
She’s confident, she feels worthless, she doubts herself, she feels guilty all the time, she’s proud, she’s lonely, she’s strong, she’s brave. She makes the hard choices and does the hard things for the sake of her kids. She’s the woman who gives everything she has and all she is to someone else and never asks for anything in return.
She’s your neighbor. She’s your friend. She’s your own mother. She’s your sister. She’s you. She’s me.
The truth is, no matter how super we feel on a day to day basis, in the eyes and hearts of our children, we will always be super mom. Because we are theirs. Super mom is simply the woman who loves her children with all her heart and would do anything for them. She’s home to her children and a light to the world.
“The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.”- W.R. Wallace
Here’s to you, Super-Moms!