As parents, we cultivate this image of being one hundred percent always able to fix everything: impervious to illnesses, low blood sugar, and kryptonite. The magic-fix goes from the woes of our children’s lives to the much-debated issue of world peace. If something needs fixing, then we are there to stand by with our magical powers, magical wands, and glittery unicorn horns so that we can say the right, whispered words for the solution to the problem in question. Considering all the shit we are suddenly capable of pulling off, on top of being given the child in question after childbirth, then we should also be given our very own Superman suit… preferably with colors coordinating to our varied complexions.
The problem, here, being that we soon begin to believe the hype. We truly believe that we have all the answers, all the right moves, and maybe can leap a building in a single bound. (We’ve all heard the stories of mother’s lifting cars from their children, so it’s a minor leap to assume we could leap buildings.) So, we’re be-bopping along with this inflated ego, thinking that we can solve it all when we are painfully, cripplingly, and horrifically dropped down to earth.
Not a punch is thrown.
Not an enemy in sight.
It’s that moment when your child is ill. And no matter the medicine, the doctor visit, or holistic remedies we look up, there is nothing we can do to take away their misery, their pain, or their racking cough. It’s in that moment when all the grist for the rumor mill stops and we suddenly realize that we were suffering from The Superman Syndrome.