I have become a somewhat boisterous declarer of being a conscious parent, we claim to be more engaged and mindful in our parenting styles with every action and reaction to your child being deliberate and intentional. (who comes up with these things? And aren’t all parents therefore conscious?).The other day, my son threw a tantrum over the fact that he couldn’t get both of the toys he wanted at the store. Daddy sternly warned him(as most parents do) that he would not get any of the toys if the behavior continued. As I watched their interaction, I cringed , feeling myself become resentful of my partner’s way of speaking to my son. I immediately wanted to run and hold my son and get him both toys because he had tears welled up by this time. But  I had to stop myself as I sensed my daughter watching me. I realized that had it been her, I wouldn’t have batted an eye at the firm tongue lashing.

Later that evening, Daddy and I talked about the incident and I brought up my feelings during their interaction.You see, I had an extremely difficult pregnancy with my Son. On more than one occasion, we thought I was going to lose the pregnancy. I was on strict bed rest for most of the pregnancy, which left me unable to be a mother to my daughter, who was a baby herself (they’re a year apart). All my focus and energy was devoted to my pregnancy, and even after he was born, most of my focus and energy was still unwavering on his end. Although he needed me, I didn’t realize that he was becoming more and more independent as he was no longer in critical condition. I continued to subconsciously make up for a less than ideal pregnancy.

I think what happens to most mothers when they find out that there’s either something wrong with the pregnancy or the child outside of what’s considered “normal” is that we blame ourselves. We secretly wonder what we could’ve done to cause what was happening. No amount of reassurances will convince us that it’s not our fault. And so we spend years trying to cover up for the unnecessary guilt and supposed mistakes.

That evening, as I peeled the onion that was my emotions and attachment towards my son, I realized that I still looked at him as the fragile little boy in the neonatal intensive care unit hooked on machines. I realized that I had clung to the image of his fragility far longer than necessary. My Son is happy, healthy and strong (I’m a believer in God’s miracles), so there really is no reason to treat him the way I did. Although I still struggle to bring the words and actions out sometimes, I am learning to firmly say no and discipline him without crawling into a ball myself. I know that he won’t learn the basic principles of life if his mother chooses to shelter and give in to all his childhood demands. So help me God, I’m conciously trying.