I have super powers

When I was a kid, I used to watch the cartoon SuperFriends.  I’d sit in front of the TV, transfixed by the Hall of Justice, dreaming about which superpower I would choose.

Now I have a child, and Batman is his favorite superhero.  The other day, my son told me that he is Batman, Daddy is Superman, and I’m Wonder Woman.  I thought about it.  

What does Wonder Woman have that I don’t have, besides an invisible jet and hair that doubles as a helmet?

I have a lasso of truth.  Otherwise called The Look.  (I inherited it from my mother, as surely you inherited yours.) 

“Did you throw a rock at that little girl?”

“No, Mama.”

“Son…”   I implement The Look and pull the lasso a little tighter.

My son looks sheepish.  

I also have golden cuffs.  They don’t deflect bullets, but I know for a fact that I can sidestep projectile vomit and pee coming straight from the hose.  

I don’t have Wonder Woman’s curvy physique, or the sassy bustier to contain it, but hey, Wonder Woman surely reached middle age at some point, right?

I could also be the Wonder Twins, Zan and Jayna.  Form of… a kangaroo, carrying a 35-pound toddler any time he says “Hold you, Mama.”  Form of… a bucket, to catch all of his tears for every time he is sad, or when he falls and skins his knee.

And then I’m Superman.  Able to jump from Lego pieces with a single “YOUCH!”   Faster than a speeding three-year-old.   If only I could fly around the world counter-clockwise and make time stop, just like Superman did, I would; I’d like to pause time in the moments he still falls asleep in my arms, his lower lip pouting as it did when he was a tiny baby. 

I AM SUPERMOM *Raising my fists to the sky*

Mothers do have superhuman abilities when it comes to their children.  It’s the uncanny knowledge that he needs to see a doctor even though the symptoms are difficult to pinpoint.  The unending, unconditional love.  

The eyes in the backs of our heads. 

I don’t need spider webs to shoot from my wrists, or super strength – hell, I already know I can carry a 30-pound suitcase in one hand and a toddler of equal weight in the other.  

These should be considered super powers:  toddler juggling, cooking while holding a baby, speaking coherently on three hours of sleep, chasing a toddler through an airport, wrestling a squirmy child through a diaper change, convincing a child to open his mouth for a toothbrush, installing a car seat, and cajoling preschoolers to eat their vegetables.  Did I mention installing a car seat? 

The thing is: it’s not the amazing feats that make us superheroes in our kids’ eyes.  It’s the simplest, tiniest things that impress them, especially when they are small.  

Today, I said to my son, on a whim:  “Did you know that waffles taste great with whipped cream?”  The gleam in his eye when I covered his plate with Reddi-Whip said:  she is magical.  

See, we mothers do have super powers:

It’s the wonder in his eyes when you apply mascara and he says, “You’re beautiful, Mama.”

The ability to help him solve a math problem.

Knowing all of the words to the songs on the radio.

Reciting the names of every Star Wars character in his toy chest.

Lifting him onto your shoulders to see the parade. 

The expert way we employ monster spray to ensure his closet is safe.

Every answer to “Why, mama?”

Oh, yeah.  I am Supermom.  Wonder Woman’s got nothin’ on me.

Love,