Newborn baby Bubu cried with all the strength his tiny body could find as Mom gently held his little hand. His fingers wrapped tightly around hers, trembling, afraid to be alone even for a second. He didn’t understand medicine or healing. He only knew something hurt, and Mom was his only safety.
As the Betadine touched his injured skin, Bubu let out a heartbreaking cry. His voice was thin, sharp, and full of fear. His small body shook, legs stiffening as pain rushed through him. Tears spilled from his eyes, soaking his cheeks, while his grip on Mom’s hand grew even tighter, as if letting go would make the pain worse.
Mom spoke softly, her voice calm but worried. She moved slowly, carefully, knowing every second felt endless to him. Bubu cried louder, turning his face away, then back again, searching for reassurance. He didn’t fight because he was naughty. He cried because he was scared, hurting, and far too young to understand why this had to happen.
The smell of medicine filled the air. Bubu whimpered between cries, his breath uneven, chest rising and falling quickly. His tiny heart raced, but Mom stayed close, never pulling her hand away. She stroked his fingers, whispering comfort, letting him know he was not abandoned.
Gradually, the pain passed. The crying softened into sobs, then into weak little sounds of exhaustion. Bubu leaned toward Mom, resting his head against her wrist, still holding on. His eyes fluttered, heavy with tears and tiredness.
Mom lifted him gently, pressing him against her chest. Bubu’s body relaxed, his cries fading into quiet sniffles. Warmth replaced fear. In her arms, he felt safe again.
Bubu survived that moment not because he was brave, but because he trusted completely. Even in pain, love held his hand and never let go.
