Mom watched in shock as Yuri quietly reached for the baby powder again. His tiny fingers dipped in, then straight to his mouth. He smacked his lips like it was something delicious. Mom froze, eyes wide with confusion. Baby powder wasn’t food. It had no sweetness, no flavor, nothing yummy at all. Yet Yuri looked satisfied.
“Why, Yuri?” Mom wondered, gently stopping his hand.
Yuri frowned instantly. He let out a small cry of protest, reaching again for the powder container. His eyes were serious, almost determined. This wasn’t play. This was desire. Mom’s heart filled with worry. She scooped him up quickly, moving the powder far away.
Yuri cried louder, frustrated and upset. He didn’t understand why mom kept taking away what he wanted. To him, the powder brought comfort. The soft smell, the familiar texture, something about it made him feel calm. Maybe it reminded him of earlier days, of care, of being cleaned and protected.
Mom held him close, trying to understand. She checked his mouth, his gums, his tummy. Was he missing nutrients? Was his body asking for something he couldn’t explain? The thought made her anxious. She rocked him gently, whispering soothing sounds, offering safe food instead.
Yuri slowly calmed down, but his eyes kept drifting back to where the powder had been. He licked his lips unconsciously. Mom sighed softly, half worried, half amazed. Babies were mysterious, especially little ones like Yuri who had been through so much change.
She made a quiet promise to watch him more closely, to ask for advice, to protect him even when she didn’t understand his strange habits. Love wasn’t always knowing the answer. Sometimes it was simply paying attention.
Later, Yuri rested against her chest, calm again. His breathing softened. The strange craving faded for now. Mom kissed his head gently, still curious, still wondering.
Why did Yuri like to eat baby powder when it wasn’t yummy at all?
She didn’t know yet.
But she knew one thing for sure.
She would keep him safe, curious questions and all.
