I want to tell a story about a superhero.
He is five years old and weighs about 36lbs. He has shaggy blond hair and starry blue eyes.
Over the course of one week, this superhero visited the doctor four times and the emergency room three times. He stayed awake for 26 hours straight. He even managed a smile and some curiosity during his very first ambulance ride. He was poked, prodded and scanned over and over despite a lot of tears and a lot of confusion. He answered questions with the kind of honesty and thoughtfulness of a superhero twice his age. He was calm, mature and strong. And when they rolled him away for surgery without his dad and mom, he looked back with uncertainty, but turned around and put on a brave face.
Because that’s what superheroes do.
The superhero’s surgery went well and he was back fighting crime (and his little superhero-in-training brothers) the very next day.
And the mom of this superhero knows that this week she had a little glimpse into the future.
She saw a grown up superhero. And a man ready to confront obstacles with the very same strength and courage. A man who was thoughtful and interested. A man willing to accept challenge. A man who was brave.
And this mom, who sometimes, most times, feels like she is screwing everything up, and who sometimes, most times, feels like she is grasping at straws, smiled. And she was so very proud. Not only of the little superhero right in front of her, but also of the man he would become. She believed with all of her heart in who he was, but also of who he would someday be.
Because that’s what moms of superheroes do.