Being A Supermom

After unsuccessfully trying to escape my sleeping child for the 999th time, I have decided to continue lying next to him and to use the time to write down my latest ponderings.

Recently, I had a friend over to my place for a music rehearsal towards an up-coming program at our church, a late evening music rehearsal that eventually turned into a very late night rehearsal. As I shut the door behind my friend, I glanced down at my shoes – firmly on my feet since 6:30 that morning, since I dressed to drive my daughter to school. My top, also on since 6:30am, now had an assortment of stains from baby food to vomit to other pretty little somethings that all mums are familiar with. Yes, I smelled like something the cat had dragged in.  And looked like it too. It had certainly been one of “those days” – juggling the family car to keep everyone comfortable, a host of errands, household chores, a demanding six year old, a clingy 9 month old, after school music lessons, post-child-bedtime music rehearsal – the expected stuff. The unexpected as well – the double trip to the smash repair shop to deal with the consequences of being in a car accident. These unexpected trips were neatly punctuated by the urgent dash to the nearest grocery store to buy some ready made baby food. I then proceeded to squeeze the puréed Apple, bit by bit, into my baby’s hungry mouth – straight out of the pack, seated in the backseat of my car, in the underground parking lot. I take back all the judgmental comments I have ever passed about ready made baby food and the consumers who encourage the survival of this business.

As I shut the door behind my friend, I felt completely ragged. I wondered why, despite my best efforts, I never look like those mum’s on TV or in the magazines or, for that matter, like some of the chic mums I see around the malls. According to the folks from the 80’s a “supermom” was a lady who raised a child and took care of a home while also having a full-time job. But I guess someone realised that being a mum IS a full time job and ever since “supermom” broadly means “an exemplary or exceptional mum”. Now the million dollar question, what does it really take to be a “supermom”?

Motherhood is a pretty intense physical and mental routine specifically designed to make you feel anything but super by the end of each day. I absolutely love being a mum but ironically, life’s most fulfilling job can also be the most challenging. I often wish that children came with an instruction manual but obviously, they don’t. What children do come with, however, are their own unique personalities, psychologies and signature brand of mischief. They also happen to be great psychologists. My children are fantastic at reading my mind and then proceeding to use my own thoughts and plans to my disadvantage.

As a child I was quite sad that my mum was forced to hold a job and that I didn’t get to spend all day with her. This considered, I feel blessed to be able to put aside my various degrees and dreams to be a stay-at-home mum, for the moment. I have whole heartedly immersed myself in motherhood. It has been quite a journey and I have acquired much diverse experience on the job. My culinary innovation is constantly evolving as I strive to satisfy my children’s fine palates. Although, I’m yet to figure out why my cooking still can’t hold a candle up to McDonalds. I have become extremely competent at extempore speaking. I give daily discourses on a variety of subjects – most notably : germs, the importance of brushing one’s teeth, how to flush a toilet properly, the hazards of nail biting, the long-term benefits of Sunscreen, the long-term benefits of eating your lunch, the long term benefits of not bouncing off the couch, why we don’t wipe our mouths in our sleeves, why we do not throw our shorts in the washing machine with baby tomatoes in the pockets, why we never wake a sleeping baby, why we do not wear our undies as a head dress and other exciting topics. My discourses rarely have the anticipated impact but all the same, I have become extremely competent at discoursing them. I have my grey cells exercised regularly as I tackle complex questions like – “why is a milkshake called a milkshake?”, “what happens if we drop a baby?”, “why do prawns’s eyes look creepy?”, “what part of the pig does bacon come from?”, etc. I have also been well and truly initiated into the art of mind reading. You can’t be a mum without practicing the art of reading your child’s mind. I have tasted equal success and failure in this area with some mind-readings remaining forever ambiguous like why my baby son constantly tries to escape during diaper changes or why my daughter persists in negotiating my “final verdict” on an issue. I have learned to adjust to a home-centered life style, lack of sleep, very little “me” time and wearing many different hats each day. Being a mum requires me to go from being a costume maker to being a baker to being a doctor to being a chauffeur to being a dictator and all else that lies in between. Motherhood has taught me that all of us can have more than two arms – if we can learn to use our legs effectively. I can shut the car door and push the elevator call button with my foot while carrying a baby, a baby bag, an umbrella, a few grocery bags and a couple of canvas boards snugly tucked under my arm. This can be performed gracefully until the baby decides to stick his hand down your shirt and start stretching your neckline down towards your waist. I often cook breakfast, pack lunches, help my daughter get dressed, give the baby a bottle and make coffee more or less simultaneously. I get the job done. Not perfectly. And I don’t look pretty either.

My job as a mum usually entails a series of carefully planned days, carefully hijacked by my children. My detailed cleaning of the house is given a fanciful finish with shredded paper/ juice spills across freshly steamed mopped carpets. I try to enact those beautiful Johnson n Johnson bath time ads but my version usually features loud tantrums from the children. I try to look like those hot mums on TV as I serve up dinner but then I usually end up as a flustered ball of non-sense trying to ensure that my 6yr old doesn’t turn dinner into breakfast. Yes, motherhood involves Drama – God’s way of ensuring that this art form never dies out. I often fantasise about being perfectly prepared, dressed and turned out for an event but my maternal duties usually overtake all fantasies and I end up throwing on the only outfit that didn’t need to be ironed. I quickly slap on my make-up, in parts, every time we stop at a traffic light. And oh, I have a great little tactic – I wear very little make-up so I’m still recognisable to my friends, God forbid I’m ever forced to go without! Apparently, motherhood doesn’t permit absolute perfection.

So, what does it take to be a “supermom”?

Well, after much thought, I believe I have arrived at the well hidden truth that society never tells us, EVERY MUM is a SUPERMOM.

I have come to the conclusion that being a “supermom” has little to do with the prim, proper and glossy images that society imposes on us. Nope, it has nothing to do with a 24 inch waistline, perfectly coiffed hair, impeccable turn out, an immaculate home, eternally beaming children or a handsome patronising husband. In fact, it has nothing to do with perfection at all. As it turns out, the better part of “super” is just pure effort and perseverance – the ability to be acutely aware of our lapses as we get up and give it our best shot the next day. It doesn’t matter how or where we attempt to do this –  in a business suit or in pyjamas, with or without nail polish, in a mansion or a tiny hovel.

There will always be voices that are eager to belittle us as mothers. I guess the only way to block out these voices is to focus on the tiny voice that, despite it’s own frequent, loud and plentiful complaints, will always name you as “the Best Mother in the World”.

Embrace the fullness of life as a mother. Here’s to crying infants, tumbling toddlers, mouthy 8 yr olds, cranky teenagers, over confident 20yr olds and even 30yr olds, like myself, who inspire the “super”. But most of all, here’s to every mum out there who, though charmingly unaware, is “super” in her own special way.