I closed the door and the screaming began, reverberating across the hollow wooden door and permeating through the walls of the small bathroom. I held my head in my hands, rubbing my temples to fend off the impending migraine. Thirty seconds was all I wanted—a quick reprieve from being the mom, the one thing that could provide comfort.
The mommy phase is equal parts beautiful and exhausting—somehow filling your cup and draining it simultaneously. You love watching eyes brighten, small arms that reach when you walk through the door. You are their person: the one they want, the one they need. It is a love unlike any other, and it’s wonderful—truly, it is.
But it’s also overwhelming. It’s snuggling a child, even when you feel overstimulated. It’s carrying a toddler, even when you feel ready to collapse. It’s rocking a baby, even when you long for the comfort of your own bed. It’s filling tanks, even when yours is running on empty.
Your superpowers have limits, this magic is fleeting.
It’s messy (most of motherhood is), but like everything else in your child’s life, it’s a phase—a temporary stage in the years that will be gone all too quickly. These days, filled with minutes hiding in the bathroom, will not last forever.
And I don’t mean in the cliche “soak in every second, you will miss these moments” kind of way. I mean in the “your superpowers have limits, this magic is fleeting” kind of way.
Because what you have in this beautiful, messy, mommy phase is something that only lasts a short while–before time and maturity sweep it away in a quick, overwhelming tidal wave. You can solve every problem by simply being present. You walk into a room and worries disappear, anxieties vanish. One hug from you can make a severed heart whole.
You, mama, have superhuman skills. You possess powers that few will ever experience, powers that you might not have realized even existed until it was too late. Because these abilities will not last forever. They will expire.
All too soon, those problems will multiply. Those worries will grow more complex, becoming more complicated with every passing year. You will trade skinned knees for shattered hearts, broken toys for bruised egos.
Suddenly, the fix will not be so simple. Your smile will no longer calm the tears. Your hug will no longer mend the broken heart. Sure, you might make it better (moms never fully relinquish their supernatural strengths), but the process will not be so seamless, so natural.
You can save the day, and you don’t need a cape to do it—you simply just need to walk in the room.
These days are numbered—you only have a short time with a smile that can soothe sobs and a hug that can heal hearts. And when it’s gone, it’s gone. The fix will never be this simple, this effortless, ever again.
Embrace these moments, mama. Capitalize on your strengths. Maximize your superpowers.
Because in this season, you are the hero. You can save the day, and you don’t need a cape to do it—you simply just need to walk in the room.