A Mother’s Dilemma

 

My five-year-old child on our way from Karate class casually says, “Mommy, can we go to McDonalds and get a milkshake?” The immediate knee-jerk reaction for a mother with her protective instinct is to shield her child from junk food. So I said, “No, we just now worked hard to build muscles and get you stronger. Milshakes and ice cream are not for today; we can get them next week as a special treat.” His eyes gleamed with curiosity, and unintentionally, he said something I didn’t anticipate that he would say in a million years. He is MY baby.

"Ma, you know what?" With a gleaming innocence that could melt glaciers, my boy chirped. "You're not nearly as cool as Anjana Aunty. I wish she were my mother."

His remarks—an odd mixture of whimsy and unintentional betrayal lingered in the air. My possessive thoughts about how devoted my child would be caused my stirring spoon to pause in midair.

"Anjana?" I asked, attempting to be as indifferent as possible. "Why's that, buddy?"

Now my boy’s thinking flowed like a toddler's understanding of a babbling brook. "She lets Aman have chocolates and ice cream whenever he wants. And last week, when Aman finished his coloring pages, he said Anjana Aunty took him out to get ice cream sandwiches. Ma, she wears glittery shoes and rides a motorbike!”

I grinned, admitting the irresistible appeal of motorbikes and dazzling shoes. While my boy’s thoughts were already on the next experience, mine was exploring the maze, which is parenthood. My neighbor, Anjana, had unintentionally come to represent my standard of maternal coldness.

My boy’s naive declaration lingered in my mind as I put him into bed later that night. I talked to his room's silent walls while perched on the edge of his little bed.

"Ice cream anytime, is it? Sparkly shoes and a motorcycle, huh?" I thought, casting a sidelong glance as though the cosmos were going to respond. "How can I go against my own upbringing and values instilled in my parental beliefs, and why should I compete with others' styles of parenting? Or should I? Will I lose my child’s devotion to me if I am uncool?”

My boy didn’t leave another minute wasted and insisted on reading his favorite bedtime story. We played our favorite bedtime game, and before his pearl-like eyes shut, he melted my heart as he said, “Ma, you are the best, and I love you to the highest anyone can ever go." The soft toy bear in the corner, a faithful receptacle for innumerable bedtime tales and whispered secrets, let out a gentle chuckle. "Maybe, my little critic, I need to invest in some sparkly thoughts of my own to get me into a better state."

I came to understand in the calm haven of my boy’s room that the true measure of a mother's coolness was not outward glitz but rather the coziness of nighttime cuddles, the creative turn anything into a favorite toy my child would enjoy, the skill of transforming veggies into captivating stories, and the soft lullabies that surrounded us like a comforting blanket. Leaving behind visions of glittery shoes and motorbikes, I tiptoed out of the room, realizing that the actual coolness was in the mundane magic we made every day, the kind of enchantment only a mother could conjure.