It’s that thing that enables you to carry both kids for six blocks when the voice in your head says your arms will give out after the first.

It’s what makes it possible for you to bear the overwhelming, unrelenting, utterly exhausting mental load.

It’s how you pull yourself out of bed to deal with life when you have fever (real fever; like man-cold fever) and can’t breath through your nose or swallow.

It’s how you manage to schlep 16 grocery bags hanging off every part of your arm and at least one on each finger because if you don’t get it all in one trip in the door you’re going to pee in your pants. (You might anyways.)

It’s just how you manage everything.

It’s what stops you from running away when you finally get whichever kid is sick to bed — after two painstaking hours of rocking and singing and wiping up vomit — and you rest your weary, pounding head on the pillow only to hear the other kid starting to cry.  Somehow, when you think your body just doesn’t have any juice left, you get out of bed and do it all again.

This is Beast Mom.

Beast Mom is super human.  Beast Mom can go to bed after midnight and still get up at 5:30 AM to make dinner before anyone wakes up. Beast Mom can get up multiple times per night with a nursing baby or difficult toddler and people at work the next day can’t see it on her. Or maybe they can, but she’s still there, doing work things.  (And by the way, I include taking care of one’s children full time when I say work. It is a job. I could never do it. Too weak.)

Beast Mom can just do things that regular Mom never thought she could do, until she just has to. And then she does.

Beast Mom also has another secret power.  Some people call it the mama bear instinct, but to me it’s just part of being a Beast Mom.  It’s that thing that happens when you identify some sort of risk or danger to your child and before you even realize it, you are speaking up — more assertively or forcefully than usual — to neutralize the risk or shield your child from harm.

In my case, since I started out pretty assertive to begin with, Beast Mom is pretty formidable.

I get to a place where I suspend consideration for other things I would normally care about — especially whether other people, like family or friends, are judging me — and say and do what is best for my kid with no reservation.

It started before we even left the hospital.  Many new moms report a feeling of powerlessness or loss of autonomy when they are in labor or recovery in the hospital. It can often feel like decisions about your health or your labor that should be yours are really being made by others because they are the experts and they run the place.  And sometimes that really is happening.  I certainly felt that way during my labor — the pressure to get an epidural, or to use pitocin to get the contractions going again when they slowed.

But just 24 hours later, when one of the many well-meaning staff members came in to collect a blood sample from my daughter’s heel for state-mandated newborn screenings, it seemed to be taking a really long time and Little Miss Thing was screaming her heart out.  I thought I was just listening quietly, waiting for the collection to end when a voice started speaking — demanding to know why it was taking so long and asking the staff person to finish up as quickly as possible.  I had literally never heard this voice – but it was mine.

As assertive as I am, I would normally be more deferential.  Or inclined to just tough it out.  I understand that babies cry when you poke and prod them, and typically trust that a person in a uniform with a badge will do things right.  But this was my baby.  And that crying, for that long, just didn’t sit right — uniform and badge notwithstanding.  Beast Mom wanted to be absolutely sure this was OK.  And to let everyone in the room know who was in charge of Little Miss Thing’s safety.

(So what was the outcome? I have no idea, ask my husband — that whole period is a fucking blur in my memory at this point. I just remember Beast Mom speaking up.  Everyone survived, so it was probably fine.)

Recently, a family member who is currently expecting her first child told me that her Beast Mom made her first appearance last week.  Normally, when a taxi driver is driving poorly or lazily, she just shrugs it off and waits for it to end, hoping she doesn’t puke.  But this time, she was surprised to hear a strong voice declare: “You are not driving safely.  If you need me to look out your blind spot for you, I will.”  It was her own, out-of-body Beast Mom voice.

Beast Mom, I guess, is really just a state of mind.  It’s the mode you go into when you have decided that nothing else matters but your child, or completing a mission for your child. The diaper changing mission when you forgot the wipes.  The bedtime mission.  The getting the kids out of the house mission.  We get it done no matter the obstacles.

It’s the resourcefulness you didn’t know you had.  It’s how you suddenly become a ninja who can sneak into a sleeping baby’s room and do shit without waking baby, even as you traverse old creaky floors.

And, most importantly, it’s what empowers you to do what’s best for your kids at all times  — no matter what anyone else thinks.

Hate sleep training? Cool. Don’t sleep train your kids. I’ll do what I need for mine. Think I should breastfeed? Think I should not breastfeed? You think I should breastfeed but also nobody wants to see that shit? Cool. Do whatever you like with your breasts.  And I’ll do what’s right for my kids.

Beast Mom doesn’t care what you think of her parenting decisions. Her kids watch TV sometimes or a lot. They eat healthy food and also some crap. They usually get enough sleep and, so far, they are nice people.  She’s cool with the way this is going and this is how it’s going to be.

Sometimes people balk at me because when my kids refuse to put on their coats, I let them go out in freezing weather and wait the approximately 6 seconds until they ask politely for their coats — instead of getting into a physical battle with them and literally forcing clothes on them. This is how Beast Mom gets them to school and allows them to exercise some autonomy.

Friends of mine have asked, usually when they are pregnant or have newborns, how you just tune out all the voices from family and friends who think they know what’s best and present their views as mandates.  And I always say you just learn to do it.  As you become more confident in your role as a Mom, you learn to trust your instincts.  You start hearing Beast Mom’s voice all the time and you get used to listening to her.

There was a book written a couple years ago called The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck.  I read an excerpt when it came out and it made me laugh.  I think the lesson has particular application to motherhood.  We should sweat only the things we need to sweat about (luckily my postpartum endocrinology provides plenty of sweat whenever I need it).  And we should give no fucks about the things that don’t matter.  Almost nothing else matters to me when it comes to doing what I know is right for my kids.

At this point I have approximately 428 grey hairs and I feel like I’m 33 going on 49 — so I won’t say any of this motherhood stuff is easy.  I am exhausted and of course I still question myself as a mom.

But learning to listen to that voice — that gut feeling — gets easier and easier as I go.  It is definitely one of my favorite parts of being a mother.  And it’s something new moms can look forward to when they are brand new at this game and don’t know when it will start to feel natural.

I hope you hear and recognize your inner Beast Mom and give her credit where it’s due.  I hope you celebrate her.  She is a force.

Oh, and a word about the photo.  I have a love-hate relationship with this photo because when I see it, I see how fucking massive I still was last summer (that was 15 lbs ago and I am STILL not at my pre-kids weight).  I had no idea at the time just how big I still was.  Like, is that thing even human.

But.  The other thing that jumps out at me is just how bloody strong I was.  Physically.  At that point, the kids weighed at least 70 lbs combined (it’s all the Sheep – he’s a monster).  And I was carrying them around like that ALOT.  I’ll lose the weight eventually.  But I’m glad my husband captured a photo of Beast Mom in pure beast mode.

I’m proud of her.  I’m proud of what my body has done and what it can do, notwithstanding its circumference.  I’m grateful that it permits me to pull off herculean efforts when Beast Mom says I can do it.  When Beast Mom tells me to do something, I know better than to argue.