How one conversation changed the way I parent… forever

When Cruz first met his baby brother, Jase, he walked up to his tiny, sleeping sibling and placed a chocolate-covered strawberry on his lips — waiting to see if he’d taste it. Then, with the sweetest little voice he set a tiny toy truck on Jase’s lap and asked, “Maybe he play toys?”

My heart melted, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

What I didn’t know was that this sweet moment would soon turn into one of the hardest, most heartbreaking seasons of my life as a parent.

As Jase woke up from his newborn sleepiness, he started crying — and basically didn’t stop for months. I spent my days holding a screaming baby, exhausted and sad. I extended Cruz’s preschool hours, convincing myself it was best for him, even though I really just felt incapable of caring for my toddler while my newborn never stopped crying..

One morning, I dropped Cruz off at school and he hung onto my legs, crying. His teacher said, “You’ll be fine, Cruz. Mommy has to go home to take care of the baby now.”

His worst, unspoken fears, confirmed.

You’re not as important as the baby. Mommy loves the baby more.

I remember the way his face crumpled. The way he stared at me, uncertain, as I left. I should have corrected his teacher, scooped up my firstborn, and run out the door. But in my hormonal, overwhelmed state, I kissed his head, told him I loved him, and walked out the door.

Honestly, this moment still haunts me. I still feel sick, and filled with regret for how I handled it.

I cried the whole way home.

Over the next few weeks, Cruz began to change.

He wasn’t my gentle, easygoing boy anymore. He hit. He bit. He melted down constantly. He was angry, defiant, and sometimes rough with the baby- all while watching me closely to see what I’d do.

And at night, when I tried to snuggle him, he pushed me away. He wanted Daddy.

As for me- I was a mess. Postpartum, anxious, sad, and ashamed that both of my children were miserable. I felt like an absolute failure.

One night, after another long, difficult day, I lay beside Cruz and said a little prayer, asking for a way to connect with him. A lightbulb went off in my head, and I started speaking to him with the words that came on their own.

“Sometimes having a baby brother is really hard.”

Silence.

“Sometimes you miss when it was just you and me.

Sometimes you feel really sad, or mad, that he’s here.”

I kept going.

“I understand. And I love you. No matter what.”

The room was quiet. Then, in the smallest voice, he said:

“Keep talking about brothers.”

I was shocked.

I named every emotion I thought he might be feeling. I told him he mattered to me, and that nothing — not even a new baby — could change that. I told him that I felt like the luckiest person in the world that I got to be his mom, that I was deeply sorry things had been so hard.

He lay still, listening. He rested a little against my side, and then fell asleep.

The next morning, something felt different. Cruz didn’t pull away from me as much. He seemed more relaxed.

For the first time in months, I felt a little hope that we would figure things out.

My sweet boy had been feeling so heartbroken and alone with all these huge changes. Longer school days, zero one-on-one time with me, and the angst of a colicky baby was too much for him. My son needed to know that he mattered to me as much as ever.

Because truly — if your parents don’t make you feel like your feelings matter, who will?

As I learned more about conscious parenting and emotional intelligence, I felt like I stumbled upon a powerhouse of connection for all of us.

Children (and adults) calm down faster when they feel seen and understood.

A huge misconception is that acknowledging feelings means giving in. It doesn’t.

It actually makes boundaries easier because your child feels respected and understood.

I began saying things like:

- “You really don’t like that I’m nursing Jase right now. I see that. I need five more minutes. If you bring me the little bouncy ball we can play while I nurse.”

- “You want Daddy to put you to bed. I get it. Tonight it’s my turn. Give Daddy a hug and then you can choose our bedtime book.”

I was so relieved. I knew how to support him, but still lead. It felt like a tremendous breakthrough, and I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

I grew up in a constant state of overwhelm, so helping my boys understand and move through their feelings is one of the most important things I can do.

And what surprised me most is this:

You don’t have to get it right the first time. Repairing a hard moment is just as powerful as handling it well in real time.

When you see the situation clearly later, you can always return and say:

“I really got that wrong. I didn’t understand your perspective. I see why you felt sad/angry/scared.”

I often say things like, “I really got that wrong with you. I’m sorry. Can I try again?”

Awareness—> repair —> connection and growth = the work of conscious parenting.

Here’s the article that helped me figure out what was happening with Cruz during that difficult time. Linking here in case it helps: The Key to Your Child’s Heart.

What’s one way you can help your child feel seen and understood? To bring a little ease and relief to their little hearts, or their day?

If you need support returning to love and leadership, I’d love to guide you. Check out ways to work with me here.