The Bionic Woman


These are the things that run through my mind at 4 a.m.

When I became a mum in the mid-80’s, I was suddenly endowed with this amazing intuition, spider sense, third eye, whatever you want to call it.  It was that little thing inside a mum that snaps your eyes wide open in the dead of night because you KNOW your 5-year-old son is standing there, glassy eyed, burning with fever and terrified by febrile hallucination.  It is how you KNOW your 14-year-old daughter is a fetal curl in her bed at 2 a.m. needing a bucket, a hot water bottle, an hour long back rub and, when she can hold it down, a couple ibuprofen.   A mum just KNOWS these things.

Or does she?


This is EXACTLY what using my bionic ears looks like. Except not like this at all. Not even remotely. Plus, I would never wear that colour turtleneck.

As the years have rolled by and my kids have long since flown the nest, I still have this gift, intensified now as I approach the mid-century mark.  What I now realize is that God does not give you some kind of mummy spider sense when your kids are born.  He does, however, gift a mother with SUPERHUMAN HEARING.  Did I know my son was there, or did I hear him breathe?  Did I know my daughter needed me, or did I hear a tear slide off her nose and strike the pillow?

So, armed with my bionic ears, I can hear a TV signal even when the set is muted.  I can hear the fox score a pheasant down the garden in the wee hours of the morning, and from my bed I can hear, through 3 closed doors, a floor and 2-1/2 feet of solid ancient brick, my cell phone in the kitchen reminding me that it needs plugging in STAT.


This is what a man who does not snore looks like.

Which is why, at 4 a.m., I thanked God that I am also gifted with a husband who does not snore.  The Bionic Woman needs her sleep.  Go ahead and jealous on me, ladies… I know he is that rarest creature of all.

Worth at least 6 million in my books, anyway.

Mother Hen

Originally published on motherhendiaries 10 March 2014

© motherhendiaries 2014 all rights reserved

11 replies »

  1. Oh no, my husband’s snoring is not too bad. What he does do is kind of shutters and shakes throughout at least the first hour after he has gone to bed. Put that in your hat and smoke it while your awake worrying about things at 4 A.M.!!


  2. An expected twist in this story, MH, which left me smiling. Count me in as one of the lucky ones whose husband doesn’t snore. And I loved the image of the tear sliding off her nose and striking the pillow. Of course you heard it.


    • Thank you, SITB! 🙂 Motherhood does strange things to a woman’s senses. We become oddly tolerant of unpleasant smells, yet fantastically sensitive to sound and – intuition? (Like, when you KNOW you someone is fibbing and you have absolutely zero proof?)… I am happy to hear someone as lovely as you has hit the nonsnoring jackpot!


    • Awwwww…. Snore fail! Sorry to hear it. Once I feel asleep on the sofa in a weird position and hubby caught me on video snoring hahahaha! He said it was hilarious because I am the quietest sleeper ever. I think I was jetlagging at the time. Anyway, I deleted that posthaste!!! 😊


  3. How lovely to see that blast from the past up there when this showed up on my Reader! I should’ve known those shows were based on you….am just trying to figure out how they were on TV before you were a mum….hmm…….


  4. I used to like this show, kind of like “Charlie’s Angels” in that it showed a woman who was resourceful! I love the way you shared your hubby doesn’t snore and yes, those who are or were married to wall rocking snoring, are jealous! I think he is handsome, too, if I remember something said or shown in past posts! You are a lucky woman, MH!


Cheep, Cluck or Crow... Just Make Some Noise!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s