Big Boy Baby



My older son turns 7 today, and I've been reflecting on my relationship with him. He is emotionally volatile, frail and at the same time - resilient. I see a lot of myself in him. He cares a lot about the people he loves and he always wants their company to share himself and his experiences. He wants to do the right thing, always, and beats himself up about making mistakes. The guilt he carries when he thinks he's hurt someone - especially unintentionally - breaks my heart. I wonder, as a mother, how I've groomed him to carry this burden, composed of others' trauma and pain. Has he inherited my irrational conscience? Or has he watched me harness the weight of the world and emulated it? I know he's in for a rough emotional journey with this trait so deeply embedded in him at this young age. The world will not be kind and I worry about how he will alchemize the sadness... 

He hates injustices inflicted upon him. Like when his little brother wrongfully accuses him of doing something wrong or when we unknowingly ask him implicating questions and he's innocent. It destroys him. I know he tries very hard to do the right thing, but his childish impulses and his immature emotional system fails him. Then we judge him for it and fail him again. That weighs heavily on me sometimes. I know I am doing the best I can as his mother, but I fantasize about the child he could have been, had I not been too hard on him the day before. Or two years ago. Or four years ago.

I remember feeling extremely protective of him. Almost frantically so. A fierce, motherly instinct that was rooted in an extreme fear of rejection. I needed to preserve him the best way that I could from the racial bigotry I was exposed to when I was growing up. Of course, I would be the wayward one in the group. Here I was - 21 years old, unmarried (at the time but shortly after, wedded, then divorced) and with a half black child in an Indian family. I recall the alienation I felt when the elders and my peers were discussing the qualities they didn't find attractive or acceptable... and how I felt when I noted that they were describing me. My non-traditional mentality groomed me into a vigilant and defensive mother for my son. I was disappointing my whole family and I knew it, and I was disappointing myself for doing that to them. It broke me for many years but we found the forgiveness we all needed to heal, together. A transcendental love that my beautiful baby brought us to make us stronger and better human beings. But I still wonder, sometimes, if that's where my son's need to please and his terror to fall short comes from. From me?     

We were growing together and learning together (we still are). I had him when I was 21 years old. I was jolted into a spiral of responsibilities and exhaustion... and loneliness. As much as I love being a mother and having my sons, it is taxing and toxic at times. The love, the patience, the gentleness and the understanding extends only so far under the heaviness of loss, sacrifice, divorce, triggers, pain and sadness. It became exceedingly difficult to separate myself from his fleeting emotions. They left him once the tantrums were over, but they stayed in my skin. I valued my motherly abilities in his temporary feelings and it broke me - then it trickled down into my parenting. Sometimes, I resent myself for that, even though I know better than to do that. I remember looking at him and being reminded of all my brokenness, instead of recognizing my strength and the victory in choosing myself to give him a better life and eventually, give him a happier mother. Looking back today, I mourn the woman I was and the mother I felt like I had to be. I admire the survivor, but I wish he didn't have to be a part of the mess I made of my life, and especially be a byproduct of it. 

On the other hand, I remember experiencing my first, real encounter with unconditional love with him. Laughing until my insides were cramped, feeling like my life was gracefully saved by his new presence. I'd never really been in awe of anyone or anything until I watched him stand for the first time or walk alone. I observed his mental gears working and turning, figuring things out. I completed my Bachelor's degree, bought my first car, got a new job and made my very own human. And he outshined it all. He was a literal sunflower. A joy I was (and still am) lucky to feel. We were made of the same stardust, best friends and peas in a pod. A love I had dreamed about since childhood. A love I missed out on but found in him at the time. A love that only a mother can have for her son. He was my everything, in every sense of the word and we got through some of my toughest times together. He was forgiving, gentle and a warrior for my honor. 

I miss the pureness of that love. He's older now, with a mind of his own that I try my best to foster, aside from my personal biases and wants. He has his own personality and complexities and finds his father more endearing than me, these days. All a part of the dynamic of split households. I am no longer bitter about it, but I accept the disparity for what it is. I do hope he will embrace me with love and admiration again soon like he used to. And until then, I still find myself in awe of his utter brilliance, in love with his curiosity and beauty, and overall content with the silent love we share. Happy 7th birthday, my big boy baby. Mommy always loves you, more than you know.