Friday, February 02, 2007

When SUPERMOM comes out at night

She promptly answers the shrill call of duty--a sustained and panicked wail coming from the next room. The call is not a vain plea for attention, but a distinct cry for help! She instantly transforms into her hero identity in the darkness of the hallway. She is alert, concerned, and on a mission. Despite the clock's message that it is three-something, and the light of day isn't a passing thought on the horizon, she knows it is a true hour of need. Only she alone can solve the mystery and free the victim from her clutches of discomfort.

Our vigilante dons her hero utility belt, equipped with teething gel, diaper rash cream, children's motrin--a miniature drugstore to say the least, prepared to make her diagnosis. The belt coordinates perflectly with her pajama garb and mid night hair stylings. She reaches the distressed victim and proceeds to swiftly assess the situation, paying no mind to the darkness and her own near sightedness. She sings with the voice of a lark, and like a soft wind on a warm summer's eve, gently rocks her young in the Hero's chair. She is patient and calm, never once yearning for the warm berth from which she was summoned. Having entered unseen, she exits as a shadow, her true identity known only to the one who cannot speak. Only she can solve the mystery of the Mid Night Diaper Explosion.

She is strong. She is invincible. She has no sense of smell. She is SUPERMOM!

You would not recognize this same character in daylight as her public identity is a charade. In the face of innumerable opposition, she strives not as the supermom whose charge it is to keep the child happy, but merely to keep it alive. Her eyes are encrusted with sleep, her curse a keen sense of smell. And unlike her alter-ego who thrives on the elixer of life and never tires, she chugs the bismol of pepto, attempting to assuage the complaints of an angry stomach, and longs for the dull snore of her charge so she herself can return to a comatose state. The young human is indeed her pride and joy, but our champion is devoid of heroic energy. Her responsibilities are innumerable and her distractions many. She can only long for the darkness of night when her true identity awakens and she once again becomes Supermom.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

How very well put! Thinking of ...

Now that it is eight hours later, I cannot remember what I was going to say. How very typical of life right now. Even something so simple as writing a short comment can be interrupted for hours.

So maybe I'll just point out that I am very not SuperMom just now. Mostly I am just SuperTired. At night, however, there is a transformation. I become SuperZombie. Hey, at least SuperZombie feeds the baby. :)