*Superpowers Not Included
When I was a child, I knew for a fact my parents were imbued
with magical powers. I recall one day when I was about 3 or 4
and my mother asked me to clean up my room; I did a swift
pick-up, leaving dirty laundry lying on the floor, figuring what
Mom didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I strolled into the kitchen
confidently. "Did you clean your room?" My mother asked. "Yep!"
I replied confidently. "Did you pick up your underwear?" She
continued. "No! I didn't!" I replied, astonished that she knew.
(It did not occur to me at this age to bluff.) I began badgering
her; how did she know? Was there a secret camera? She just
smiled mysteriously and sent me back to finish the job. For me,
that clinched it: my parents were superheroes.
The rest of my childhood, my mom and dad continued to amaze me
with their knowledge and tricks. One Sunday dinner I idly asked
my dad how a gun worked, and promptly received a detailed lesson
on physics and gunpowder. How did he know these things? Did he
prepare beforehand? My mother could do amazing feats like help
me make a stained-glass ornament or turn a cigar box of her
dad's into a deluxe king-size bed for my Barbie. I assumed that
I had 1) lucked out and picked the perfect parents to raise me,
2) they had been through some outstanding parent training
intensive before I was born, or 3) it was this amazing osmosis
thing that happens the instant you become parents - all this
necessary Mommy and Daddy knowledge gets zinged into the ole
noggin.
Once I became pregnant, I fervently hoped it was number 3, since
I could do nothing about number 1 and in spite of all my
research, I had yet to come across a pre-natal course
description for the second choice. Once I came home from the
hospital with baby girl, I was pretty sure that if it was number
3, I got shafted because I felt just as Mommy-dumb as I had two
days before. I have a distinct memory of the first day my
husband went back to work after his two-week paternity leave; I
felt a bit panicked at being responsible for Madeleine all day
long. I remember staring at her, squirming and imperious on the
changing table that morning. I cleared my throat. "Um, hi." I
said to her. "I think I'm supposed to sing to you, or
something?" She stared at me with what I was sure was derision
and disappointment. "Do you have any requests?" Was my best
comeback.
Of course, things got better, and I've become much more
confident in the mommy role: there's a pretty steep learning
curve with this job, after all. There are even times - say, when
I'm making a big batch of baby food for Maddie while singing to
her in her bouncy seat, keeping her happy and engaged - when my
husband looks at me and says to Madeleine, "Your mom is Super
Mommy!" and I feel he may be right, a bit. I'm proud of what
I've learned and can do for my daughter, and know that being a
Mommy has made be much more on top of things than I used to be.
The other day at work, for example, we had a wine and cheese
"do", and no one thought to bring several vital supplies.
Everyone's eyes bulged as I pulled a Swiss army knife,
corkscrew, bag of napkins, and book of matches out of my bag; I
simply smiled and said, "I'm a mommy!"
On the other hand, there seems to be a bunch of stuff I still
don't know, and as I consider myself a pretty well-read gal, I
can't figure out where all these other mommies took their
superhero courses. On the baby food front for example: I found
this amazing website someone on my Ivillage message board
recommended called wholesome baby food. It's a great place for
info on making baby food, storing it, ages to introduce what:
you name it and it's there. I've been referring to this place a
lot as I make Madeleine's food, and was using their advice to
make her some apricots. The advice was to steam the pitted
apricots, slide the skin off easily, and puree with some water.
Have you ever tried to skin an apricot? I steamed until the skin
was clearly loosening its grip, but the sliding thing never
happened. I ended up hunched over each apricot half, peeling the
skin in teeny tiny strips off of the (piping-hot-to-the-touch)
apricot. I would have left the stupid skin on and pureed the
whole stupid thing, but as a first-time mommy I'm sure I'd choke
my daughter on the stray piece of skin, so there I am
voluntarily flaying a fruit. I'm pretty sure I peeled off about
1/3 of the fruit with the skin, but I can guarantee you there's
no skin left in that apricot puree.
My point is this: who other than a professional chef knows how
to peel an apricot? And how many of those people automatically
know how to get yellow seedy stool out of a silk blouse? And how
many of those people also know all the words to "The Wheels on
the Bus?" I've just described a professional dry-cleaner who
dabbles in cooking and used to work in a day-care. See what I
mean? Write a job description for a mommy or daddy - and I mean
the Super mommy or daddy we all eventually become - and you'd
get no real applicants whatsoever. Those of us that do show up
have padded our resumes and lied a bit about our special skills,
figuring no one's going to be checking that thoroughly into our
references. I guess I'm just grateful my daughter's too young to
realize my superpowers have not yet shown up in the mail.
Time to get back to the baby-food making. By the way, does
anyone know how to shave a peach?