There were certain sentences that I hate when it comes to raising my baby boy, especially when you think that you know what’s best for your baby and someone else telling you that it’s not.
I had had my own share of dilemma whenever I felt like screaming my heart out to the world that he is my baby boy and it’s my responsibility to see how he’s going to grow up to.
My baby boy had started to crawl at six months plus, and already started climbing up his cot. It’s been accompanied by my ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ to encourage him doing something that is somewhat new to him. It was also accompanied by hideous cry when he fell down silly on the floor and anxious grandmom – who was babysitting him when I was not home working. I myself let him do what I wanted and fall, lumps and bumps will be quite an essential for him once he started going mobile. I wouldn’t always be there when he fall, or when he decided that it’s okay to eat sand if he likes to.
I know I had not been an attentive mother as I wanted the society to be. I could even see now that what I felt safe for the kid is not like how my MIL see it. She wouldn’t let my baby boy crawled beyond the soft mattress lying on the floor, and IMO I wouldn’t stop him from roaming around the tiles floor. One way or another, he would breakthrough and he would try everything that he ought not to be doing. Mind you, there’s a lot on his plate once he knew the world is out there.
Watching my baby boy grows up also reminds me of us, when we were kids. I thought of how I always gave up after a failed trial, and just blamed everything on others. When I watched him fall, and yet he got up again and didn’t mind the pain at all made me realise that I’m not an exemplary adult for him. I gave up easily, almost too easy that I hated myself.
Why can’t I channel to my inner child? Why can’t I follow the kids’ exceptional will to force himself to learn how to crawl, and to walk eventually?
I don’t know what I was babbling here. I felt like I’m losing my point. Like, again.