A Tong lay on the table, his small body twisting as loud cries filled the room. The moment Mom put him down, his face flushed red with anger. He rolled from side to side, fists pounding softly against the surface, protesting with every breath. To him, being placed down felt like rejection, even if Mom was only a step away.
His cries grew sharper, dramatic and demanding. He rolled again, nearly reaching the edge, forcing Mom to keep one hand close for safety. A Tong wanted arms, warmth, closeness. The table felt cold and unfair. He kicked his legs, arched his back, and screamed louder, eyes squeezed shut as if the world had betrayed him.
Mom watched with mixed emotions—tired, concerned, but calm. She spoke gently, reminding him she was there. But A Tong didn’t listen. His feelings were too big, spilling out through rolling, crying, and anger. Tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into his hair as he turned his head away in stubborn protest.
Mom placed a steady hand on his chest, not lifting him yet. She wanted him to calm, to learn that being put down didn’t mean being abandoned. A Tong screamed once more, then paused, breath hitching. The anger cracked into sobs. His rolling slowed. His body trembled with leftover emotion.
Slowly, Mom rubbed his back in small circles. Her touch was gentle, constant. A Tong’s cries softened into whimpers. He opened his eyes, searching for her face. When he saw her still there, still watching, his fear eased.
Mom finally lifted him into her arms. He clung tightly, exhausted from the storm he created. His head rested against her shoulder, tears drying, breathing steady again.
This moment wasn’t just a tantrum. It was a lesson in trust. A Tong learned that even when Mom puts him down, love doesn’t disappear. And Mom learned again that patience, not force, helps little hearts feel safe in a world they don’t yet understand.
