The other day, something happened that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life. It was just a small moment, the kind that probably looks ordinary from the outside. But to me, it felt like a light shining through all the stress I’d been carrying. A moment so full of love and truth, it quietly melted everything else away.
It was Monday, one of my in-office days. Work had been tough, and my head was still spinning from the day’s demands. But the instant I stepped outside, there she was — my daughter, waiting with her smile. She’s just two years old, but in many ways, I feel like she’s been speaking to my heart long before she learned to speak with words.
Since she started talking, she’s given me all kinds of sweet names — starting with “Mami,” then “Mama,” then “Mimi,” and finally, when she could say it fully, “Mommy.” Each version makes me smile, each one feels like its own little gift. But yesterday, she looked at me with those bright, thoughtful eyes and said something I didn’t expect. “You’re my supermom,” she said. Then she pulled me close and gave me the biggest hug, followed by a kiss that made my eyes tear up before I even knew what was happening.
It was one of those moments that makes everything else fade into the background. In her tiny voice, with no special occasion or prompting, she said something so big. And she meant it. That’s what touched me the most. It wasn’t just sweet. It was real. That pure kind of love and admiration that only a child can offer.
She’s always been observant. Even when she was just a few months old, I noticed how closely she paid attention. The way her eyes followed the sound of my voice, the way she responded with quiet awareness. Now that she’s older, I can see how much she takes in, even when she doesn’t respond right away. Sometimes we’ll tell her something — gently, because we’ve made a promise not to raise our voices, not to scold or shout — and even if she doesn’t act on it immediately, I know she’s thinking it through in her own time. And sure enough, she’ll show us days later that she’s absorbed it. That she understands more than she lets on.
When she came into our lives, I made myself a promise: I would raise her with love at the center of everything. No yelling, no harshness, just patience, honesty, and kindness. And so far, that promise has shaped everything about our days. When something isn’t right, I talk to her. I explain things. I bend down to her level and look her in the eye. And she listens. She really listens. Not because she has to, but because she feels safe enough to.
She has two pillows — one thin, one thick — that she brings everywhere around the house. Whether she’s watching her cartoons, playing quietly, or just lying on the floor when she’s a little sleepy but not ready for bed, her pillows are always with her. They’re like little companions she’s chosen for comfort, and I love how she finds calm in her own unique ways — a calm I hope she always feels with me, too.
After work, I’m with her all the way until bedtime. Even if there are chores to be done, like sweeping or tidying up, she’s usually right there beside me. If not, she’s off playing with my husband — her favorite playmate and chef. She knows I’m always there when it’s time to rest, time to talk, time to just be together. And that kind of time, I’ve learned, is the most valuable thing I can give her.
Some evenings, completely out of the blue, she’ll call out, “Mommy, come here.” And I’ll go to her, thinking she wants to show me a toy or ask a question. But instead, she’ll throw her arms around me and say, “I love you, Mommy.” No reason, no lead-up, just love. I don’t think anything in this world could ever compare to the way that feels. It stops me in my tracks every single time.
So when she called me “supermom” yesterday, it hit different. Not because I needed to hear it, but because it came from her heart. I know I’m not perfect. There are days when I’m tired, days when I wish I had more time or more energy. But she sees me for who I am to her — the one who shows up, listens, comforts, and loves without limits. That’s all she needs, and somehow, that’s all it takes to be her hero.
Later that night, after she fell asleep, I sat quietly and thought about how lucky I am. Not because of anything grand, but because of these little moments that are actually the big ones. A simple sentence. A spontaneous hug. A small hand in mine. These are the threads that make up our life together.
I know she’ll grow. She’ll change. Her words will become more complex, her world will widen, and she might not always say those things out loud. But I’ll always carry the memory of her tiny voice telling me I’m her supermom. And more than that, I’ll carry the quiet, steady bond we’ve built — the one rooted in love, in patience, and in the joy of simply being her mom.
