I once believed I was tough, a warrior with an impressive capacity for pain. There was a time when a neighbor hurled a rock that struck my head, leaving a gash that required stitches. I walked home, informed my mother of the situation, and was promptly taken to the ER. Not a tear was shed, but I was furious with the kid, primarily because it meant I couldn’t wash my hair for a week. The very next day, I confronted him on the playground.
Then there was the episode where I ignored a raging case of appendicitis, convinced it was merely the stomach flu. I was determined not to miss any high school activities, no matter how bent over I was. But everything changed when I became a parent; my “Mama Bear” instincts surged forth, overshadowing my previous resilience.
One afternoon, our neighbor invited us for a swim. My son, accustomed only to a small kiddie pool, was ecstatic about their above-ground pool. I had a baby bump at seven months, but I couldn’t resist lowering him gently into the water. My sister was there to watch my one-year-old daughter, allowing me to focus entirely on my son. I was anxious yet reassured that he would be safe.
As he ventured further into the pool, I noticed the depth increasing. When my neighbor warned me about a drop-off, I yelled for him to come closer. But excitement had taken over, and he couldn’t hear me. Suddenly, I watched as the water reached his earlobes. In an instant, he lost his footing and went under.
I leapt into the pool, fully clothed in maternity jeans and shoes, and I remember seeing his wide-open eyes beneath the surface as he struggled. It felt like an eternity, but I reached him quickly, pulling him up. After a brief cough, he smiled, but I was still in shock. I couldn’t recall how I got into the pool, and two men later told me I had jumped in like a ninja.
Getting out was another challenge; there was no ladder, just a small stool outside the pool. It took two men to help me out of the water. This experience was a revelation of my physical abilities, not just as a mother but as a pregnant one. Fourteen years later, I’m in the best shape of my life, but I know I could only pull off such a stunt if one of my kids needed me.
The adrenaline that surges in a mother when her child is in danger is unlike anything else. It’s a raw, instinctual power. For instance, Amy C. shared her story of enduring severe carpal tunnel from nursing, yet she powered through and continued caring for her child post-surgery. Pain is insignificant when your newborn needs you.
Kate M. recalled tumbling down stairs while cradling her baby, instinctively shielding her little one during the fall. Another mother, Lisa R., once removed her clog and shoved it into a dog’s mouth that charged her double stroller with two babies inside. “Cool it, man,” the teenager walking the dog said, to which she fired back, “YOU BETTER COOL IT.” One day, that teen will understand how fiercely protective a mother can be.
Jessica H. shared her tale of charging at an aggressive swan that threatened her toddler. I even had my own run-in with a fierce rooster while keeping chickens; when it attacked my youngest son, I kicked it away multiple times, sustaining injuries while ensuring my child’s safety.
The lengths we go to for our children are limitless, and our bodies know how to respond in extraordinary ways when the moment demands it. Motherhood truly grants us a powerful, instinctual strength. We remain vigilant, even when everything appears to be calm.
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Summary
This article illustrates the intense protective instinct of mothers, emphasizing how they can perform extraordinary feats when their children’s safety is at stake. From personal anecdotes to shared experiences, it highlights the lengths mothers will go for their children, showcasing the powerful “Mama Bear” instinct that emerges in moments of danger.