superheroes...

Mums are superheroes.

They have powers and skills.

They dry tears with magic tissues.

They make boo-boos better with a kiss.

They have answers for life's great questions

and a cuddle that solves all problems.

In my house I am a mummy superhero

up on a pedestal.

Every time that the beautiful boy looks at me,

he puts me up there

because he trusts me so explicitly and his expectations are so high.

My husband puts me up there too,

because he always expects me to have the solutions,

like some sort of parenting instruction book.

And I put myself up there too I guess,

because I want to be the best mummy I can be,

because with everyone has such high expectations

and my family deserve no less.

But it's sometimes a tough pedestal to be put upon.

It makes the fall really far

when you've been placed up so high.

When I fail it's harder

because everyone, including me

expects so much more, so much better.

Last week was tough.

I appreciate it probably wouldn't be tough to many,

but for us and our reality of what life is normally like,

it was long and hard.

Monday I had no hubby and a very clingy toddler.

Tuesday I had a fractious toddler who cried at anything and everything.

Tuesday night he wouldn't go to bed and yelled whenever I tried to put him in his cot.

He finally went to bed about two and half hours later than normal.

Wednesday I had a moany baby all day.

By bedtime he had developed a temperature.

He was up at 10, at 2, and at 6 in the night like a newborn.

Thursday I had a baby with a temperature all day.

He was sad and clingy and in desperate need of cuddles.

He was also tired and so in his bed by 6.30.

Only to be up again at 10 with a temperature that scared the hell out of me.

He finally went to sleep at midnight.

Friday I was up early with a still-hot toddler but one who seemed a bit brighter for a longer sleep.

But by lunch time he was back to crying and cuddling and desperately needing his mummy.

He didn't even last an hour in bed at bedtime before waking up screaming.

He was quite literally inconsolable.

And so was I.

Because I was also tired and drained.

I felt like moaning and crying and screaming.

But mummies don't, do they?

They battle on,

they have all the answers.

Except sometimes the answers run out and they are left with everybody looking at them

waiting for the solution

and they have . . . . . . nothing.

I was all out of ideas.

And more than anything all out of energy.

The only thing I was full of was guilt,

because I was cross at my husband for expecting me to have all the answers and I didn't,

because I didn't want to listen to screaming and crying any longer and I was short and fractious with my little guy,

because I was failing and letting everybody down.

We finally got the beautiful boy into bed two hours later than normal

and I promptly sat and cried.

And cried and cried.

I cried because I was tired.

I cried because I was emotionally drained.

I cried because I felt like I had buckled under the pressure of my responsibilities.

I cried because I was terrified how I would ever cope with two children when I was failing so miserably with one.

I cried because the stress of seeing my little man so miserable had all got too much.

I cried because I needed to.

And it helped.

I know the tears were the result of a week of stress and broken sleep,

of a week of missing my husband while he worked the longest hours imaginable,

of feeling helpless in the face of a poorly baby,

of pregnancy hormones,

of the pressure of being a superhero who was failing.

I'm not a superhero.

I'm just a human being.

I'm just a wife.

I'm just a mummy.

And I'm just doing the very best that I can.

Just because I look like I am in control doesn't mean I am.

Just because I look like I have the answers doesn't mean that I do.

Just because I wear the cape doesn't mean I can fly.