The days my son has a weak Momma

Every now and then, I slump a little in my seat, smile a little less, lay down my SuperMom cape and sluggishly lift off my armor.

And all that remains is the weak Momma.

She doesn’t come out very often. In fact, Weak Wendy is almost unheard of around here anymore. Whether that’s good or bad, I’m not sure. But I’ve gotten so used to the tough-as-nails me that those other moments come as such a slap in the face I’m overwhelmed; I’m caught off guard.

There are the moments where just looking at pictures of other babies on Facebook or hearing other moms-to-be talk in anticipation makes me bitter. No, bittersweet is more like it.

I look at Scott in these moments and want to scream. Why are you handling this all so much better than me, Mean Mommy yells from inside that Deep Dark Place.

The hardest for me are therapy sessions. Funny, huh? The best thing we can possibly be doing for Zack; his best chance at capturing all of the dreams this world threw on him when he was still in utero, and I sit there, nodding at new exercises and watching every move, blinking back tears and just trying to breathe past the knot in my throat.

But then.




But then there’s a nap together on the couch some lazy Saturday afternoon. His hair tickles my nose and my cheek and I listen to him sigh in a dream.






There are the smiles from both sides during leg lifts and belly time that make us both forget that what we’re doing is work. And those giggles.





Then there are the times when I watch Scott with him.

I can feel the love — the warm, warm combination of their two souls radiating through the room — and I am OK.



And the armor and cape come back out and Super Momma returns. All is well and I can move on.

But I still feel so darned guilty for feeling weak in the first place.


At church this morning, Zack had a dirty diaper, didn’t want to take the nap he needed and then got the hiccups. I left Scott in the pew as I took care of the diaper and paced back and forth in the lobby for about half of the service. I listened to every word from our pastor, taking it all in while breathing in the scent of my baby boy.

A congregation member came up to us just then, admired Zack and then told him this:

You bring so much joy to your mom.



Joy and strength.

3 thoughts on “The days my son has a weak Momma

  1. Great pictures. I love the one with the big smile on his face. I still love when Ryan lays on me like that, but it happens less often now. Enjoy it whiles it lasts.


  2. You’re not a weak mom, Wendy. You’re a MOM. This is what goes on with all of when we see our children struggle. You’re just dealing honestly with the feelings that you’re having and that is such a good thing. Keep doing everything that you’re doing for both you and Zach. You are doing a “Super” job! 😉


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