Lying here, I’m reminded of what everybody says when you’re about to have a baby: “It’s gonna change your life.”

I think about how no one ever expands on that or tries to explain it in any detail.

Because you can’t put it into words. There are so many changes it just scrambles your being. But it hits me – what the biggest change is. Something I never experienced before, basically defines me now. I turn to Matt, who’s staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide as he strains to hear our two sick boys down the hall.

“It’s the vulnerability,” I conclude.

“What is?”

“The biggest change since the boys came. We swim in it every day. We’re drowning in it tonight. They’re sick and we’re lying here trying to guess what to do next, terrified of making a mistake. Helplessly vulnerable.”

“Good word. You may be right. Now be quiet so I can hear Colton breathe.”

I’ve never felt like this. It’s like a sick, awful, empty, pleading feeling. Sort of a “make it stop” achy kind of nausea.

I feel it when they’re sick. Or when their feelings are hurt. Or when I can’t immediately locate them on a playground. It’s made me redefine “control freak.” To me it’s now a person who can’t control anything and is completely freaked out.

What happened?

When I was pregnant I was Wonder Woman. If I could have a baby I could do anything. Matt would call home to ask what I was doing and I’d say, “You mean besides creating life?”

Even getting ready to go to the hospital to deliver the baby I felt invincible. Clipping on my indestructible gold bracelets and positioning my tiara, I was ready to do what women are created to do.

And then the baby came.

And Wonder Woman went from comic to just plain comical. My tiara kept sliding off because I was always looking down at the baby. The gold cuffs made diaper changes impossible. And my beautiful cape became a catchall for my sweat and tears.

All the guessing and worrying was zapping me of my superhuman strength.

And at a critical time. What mother instead of just standing there watching a child fall off a swing doesn’t want to pull off her sunglasses, spin around a coupla times and swoop in to catch him before he falls. But in our powerless state we stand there, anxiously watching him swing, calculating mileage to the urgent care.

I’d convinced myself it was temporary until I confided my concerns to my mother, who blurted out:

“That never goes away. Why do you think I still call my 41-year-old daughter to check in?”

Is she for real? I’m gonna feel like this forever? I grab my Lasso of Truth and tie it around her waist. And immediately she spills her maternal knowledge:

“For as long as you live you will worry about your children and will be forever vulnerable to them.”

I KNEW the word was vulnerable!

“But, it doesn’t mean you’re physically weak. It just means your love is powerfully strong. It’s human instinct to protect and encourage and nurture your children. That’s why moms and dads are super. And why their children think they’re heroes.”