It doesn’t take much. If my son begins to stir while drifting off to Dreamland, I simply place my hand on his back and feel his movements calm. I love listening carefully to his breathing become slow and steady, which almost never takes more than a minute or two.
When I make a quick escape to the restroom and run back to our living room to find my babe looking left and right, he smiles at the sound of my voice as I take his little hands and declare, “Momma’s here.”
I find myself repeating those words over and over again.
If we’re eating dinner with friends or family and a sudden bout of laughter startles him, I pick him up as his lower lip begins to quiver and hold him close while he screams and cries. I can’t explain to him that there is nothing to be afraid of – at least, not in a way he can understand.
But Momma’s here, and he knows that.
If he’s become overtired due to the flood of sights and sounds while we’re out and about, I’ll put him in his MOBY wrap and look down to see the sweetest, sleeping face pressed up against my chest only moments later.
When he’s lying on his back, he’ll sometimes gurgle and babble as he entertains himself. But when I approach his face with my own, he smiles bashfully as his eye catches mine. It’s when I interact with him that he lets out little laughs and squeals of delight.
I’ve realized that Momma’s primary job isn’t to have all the right answers or perfect explanations. I don’t have to fix all my son’s problems or shield him from them in the first place. I don’t need to have it all together or attempt to be Supermom.
Momma’s here, and really, that’s all she needs to be.