Parenthood Comes With Superpowers

In the last couple of months, despite the fact that none of my kids had ever had a broken bone or stitches or a bad injury or illness of any kind, we took two different trips to the ER for two different boys. First, my No. 3 stumbled off a curb and hit his face just so, splitting his lip, knocking out a tooth, and requiring three stitches. Then, my No. 1 had a mysterious swelling in his cheek that resulted in trips to Urgent Care, the pediatrician, the Saratoga ER, and ultimately Albany Med, where he spent two nights receiving antibiotics via IV to kill the infection from a blocked salivary gland. In both cases, I was allowed entrance into the most vulnerable and sweet parts of my boys, and I came away from both incidents with renewed gratitude for the blessing of being their mother, and awe at the privilege it is to be entrusted with the care of children. My No. 3 came home from his face-plant with a wad of bloody napkins pressed to his face. One look at his ragged lip drained the color from my face and off we went to the ER. While there, my boy could not get close enough to me—he was snuggled right under my arm in a way that he hasn’t done in a long time. He was terrified of the idea of stitches, and kept asking me about it with panicked eyes and full-body trembling. In those moments, I was the only person in the entire world that could provide any comfort, and I felt the weight of that blessed burden. I hugged him and told funny stories and answered his unending questions with a cheerfulness and patience I can’t always find. He wanted to hold my hand the whole time he was lying in the bed waiting for the doctor, and when it came time for the shot of anesthesia before stitching him up I assured him he could squeeze my hand as hard as he needed to. The older my kids get, the harder I find it is to be in tune with them, but that night I felt perfectly in tune with my boy and uniquely equipped to do and be everything he needed. From the midst of the hurt and sadness came a real and very personal connection. My No. 1 stayed two nights in the hospital, and of course I stayed with him. My husband held down the fort at home, and I got set up in the hospital room with my biggest boy, who’s spent the last year or so doing all sorts of big-kid middle-school things that are brand new to our family and to my motherhood. But for those two nights and three days, we just hung out together, in a way that’s really impossible at home, with all we have going on all the time. He loved having the remote control all to himself and watched his two favorite channels (The Weather Channel and Food Network) to his heart’s content; other times he slept (a rare thing for him, who’s both a night owl and a morning person, if you can imagine that), due to how poorly he was feeling; and when he was wasn’t sleeping or watching TV, he wanted to chat, and play hangman, and actually spend time with me. His sense of humor cracked me up, and he showed me an affectionate side I haven’t seen since he was little. It wasn’t lost on me that the last time he and I had spent three days and two nights in the hospital, just the two of us, getting to know each other and forging a bond, was when he was a newborn—my first baby. By the time we arrived home (his face nearly a hundred percent better), I felt like we’d reconnected and updated our mother-son relationship. I know very well that not every hospital stay and trip to the ER results in a short-lived event without long-lasting serious effects, especially with kids. I’d much rather grow closer to my boys without the need for scary health issues and injuries. But I’ve often discovered over the course of my motherhood that my best self is most easily found when one of my little ones is completely dependent on me, whether because they’re newborns, or sick, or injured, or scared—it’s like a superpower that’s unlocked only in times of immense stress. I’m sorry that’s the case—I wish I could be a superhero all the time!—but I’m grateful that whatever I have to offer is exactly what my little guys need when they’re at their most vulnerable. If that isn’t the job description of “parent,” I don’t know what is. What a huge responsibility; what an incredible privilege. Kate and her husband have six sons ages 12, 10, 8, 6, 5, and 2. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..