Motherhood, questioned

I've tried to keep our fights blow up after the Little One is fast alseep in his bed. In effect, first we'll let the tension brew, then we slowly simmer our anger and finally it pours down pipping hot, when he is tucked away and safe from the fury of his parents bickerings. Unless one of us find humor in the way our nose turns up or our lips quiver, and points it out to the other. The build up melts and harmony and much teasing ensues.

But sometimes, in our rush and hurry to satiate our egos, to decide who really was right, in our greed to outrun the other, we forget the Lil One, watching us from the corner. I catch sight of him, for a split second, his big beady eyes trying to decipher what's going on. I fail to register his face, lost in the war of our words.

This has happened rarely, but then he is only two, plus a few months. First when we lost our cool in front of him, he was way too little to chew solids, but I remember him wailing his guts out. Second time around, he watched us with a stern alert and cried copiously as our levels buzzed up.

And then, there was yesterday. Mr Upsi seated in the couch, yours truly in the kitchen and the Lil One caught in between. This time however, I registered his presence and knew clearly well that he was watching. That we were being watched. Since it was only an argument and no one was at gun point, I let it brew. Thinking it was okay for the Lil One to see his parents argue respectfullly, mind you and within boundaries the Lil One can decode.

At some point of time, Mr Upsi (it's always him. if he wants to protest, he can start his own blog) raised his voice. Since I did not have much points to butt heads to begin with, I let it pass. I was sinking it in and suddenly, there was a little finger holding onto my hand. I looked down and saw the Lil One looking back at me with such fondness that I picked him up, not knowing what else to do. He let himself be picked up, let his limbs and arms loose and rested his head on my shoulder. That snippet of time, I wished myself to be a good mother, if not the perfect. A quick kiss, and I put him down and went to bed to rest for a while. He followed me, asking 'why why'. I asked him to go out and play, not to disrupt me, not to cause a headache.
He okay-ed, laid down by my side only to sprint up a few seconds later and ask, 'mama, why?'.
I lost my patience and asked him to just get out. Mr. Upsi came by and picked him up.

Rest of the evening, I was at the back stage, not playing with him, but kept an eye for him all along. It was a much happening night to say the least, and when bed time came, I was only too happy to snuggle beside him and let everything pass.

I have seen him imitate raising voices and direct reprimanding at us, recently. Those times, I question my nurture. On what I impart. On the values. On the way I am bringing him up.

Years from now, I want to see him as an young man, who would offer his hand for a cause and always be good at his heart. Hopefully, I wouldn't frail away from offering him roots and a platform to spread his wings....