My Leah had a rough morning. She pinched fingers multiple times, took a few tumbles and made a few bumps, got her toes stuck under a door as it opened, all in a manner of a couple hours. Although there were many tears, there were fortunately no lost limbs and no blood shed. I became accustomed to her shrill cry of terror and the betrayed look on her face each time it happened, responding promptly with hugs and kisses, words of sympathy, and a story to draw her attention away from the blistered finger, scraped foot, or bonked head.
I noticed that all her owies in a direct or indirect way were my fault--they could have been prevented had I forseen any and all possibilities for injury. Imagine, for example, a padded house with no doors, hinges, drawers, couches to fall off of, rumpled carpet to trip over, stairs to fall down, slippery tile to slide on, or gravity for that matter. Unfortunately, my attempts at safety-fying my home only include outlet covers, cabinet locks, and stairway gates. Horizontal surfaces 4 feet above the floor are clear of everything but dust, doors are deliberately closed behind yourself, and the oven stays locked when in and out of use.
But even though I was the one who opened the door over a little bare foot, even though I was the one who put socks on a child who runs around on a slippery tile floor, and I was the one who didn't run fast enough when she climbed onto the couch and stood up to dance in victory, I was the one she came to for comfort. She still cried "Mama!" each time, ran to me, and clung to my shoulders in fear of being loose again in this terrifying and dangerous world which is the living room. Instead of being angry with me for not protecting her from the dangers of sliding kitchen drawers and slippery tile floors or the injustice of gravity, she comes to me to make it all better. She continues to find safety in my arms and even lets me cuddle with her as she falls asleep even though I was the one that was at the scene of the crime each and every time she was so unjustly afflicted . That is what makes me feel like Supermom.
3 comments:
For the reader, I just want to make a note that Leah also goes to Chris for comfort and hugs, but since he's at work during the day, its usually just Leah and me.
Inspiration for this post came from experiences during the day where it was just the two of us, but if Chris had been here, I'm sure he would have felt like Superdad (although he's so protective that Leah never gets hurt under his watchcare...)
I wonder if this is why so many moms feel guilty or inadequate on Mother's Day?
Oh Jenny - I know you are just setting up boobie traps around your house for Leah to fall victim to so that she'll come running to your arms. It's the oldest Mommy trick in the book. Sweet, preconceived validation!
Post a Comment