My Superhero Power
Superman's got nothin' on Super Mom
"I get it, I get it," I interrupted. "He turns into a wolf, blah, blah, blah."
"Umm, no," Will sighed, rolling his eyes. "He has claws that come out of his hands, and he has superfast healing powers and unbreakable bones. Duh."
I let my newfound superhero knowledge simmer for a while. Maybe there was something really cool about being able to shoot rays of light out of your eyes. Could be a useful skill in a pinch.
It was months later when it dawned on me: I, too, had superhuman powers! I was sitting in the rocking chair, nursing my daughter, Julia, when it hit me like a lightning bolt: "I can make milk! Milk shoots out of my breasts!"
I ran downstairs to tell Will. "Guess what?" I announced breathlessly, "Your wife has superpowers!"
"Oh yeah?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow over his newspaper at me.
"I can make milk!" I beamed, proudly.
He looked at me for a long minute, clearly baffled. "Okaaaaay," he responded, confused, but returning to his newspaper nonetheless, seemingly unimpressed by my announcement. (I had, after all, been nursing our daughter almost a year at this point, so it was hardly a news flash.)
Still, I reveled in my new Supermom status. I could make milk! How many other human beings on the planet could substantiate that claim? (OK, about 4.2 million women at any given time in the United States alone, but who's counting?)
After 16 months of nursing, the time had come to wean my daughter. As much as I was ready to wean her, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was giving up some sort of superhuman power. For a brief time in my life, I could make milk. And, I was consciously letting that ability slip away. Sure, maybe I wasn't faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive? Not so much. But, I could make milk. And that's pretty super.