The room was quiet except for the faint sound of the fan spinning lazily above. But in the middle of the soft bed, little ATong was anything but quiet.
He had thrown himself backward dramatically, arms flung out, legs kicking, tears streaming down his soft cheeks. His cries echoed through the room like a little storm.
“Waaaaah!!”
“Maamaa!!”
Mom stood at the edge of the bed, folding clothes, calm but firm. She had already told him—“ATong, just wait a moment. Mommy’s hands are busy. I’ll pick you up soon.”
But that wasn’t what ATong wanted. He didn’t want “soon.” He wanted now.
So there he was, his back pressed against the blanket, head tilted, little belly rising and falling with deep sobs. He looked up through teary eyes to see if Mom was watching—and she was. But she hadn’t picked him up yet.
That only made it worse.
“WAHHHHH!” he screamed again, tossing his favorite pillow off the bed in protest.
Mom finally set the clothes down, walked over slowly, and crouched beside him.
“ATong, why such a big cry for such a little wait?” she said with a smile, brushing his forehead.
He sniffled, looking up at her with pouty lips. “You no pick me up…”
“Oh, baby,” she whispered, gently lifting him into her arms. “You’re my little shadow, huh? Always want to be close.”
The moment his body touched hers, the tears stopped. He buried his face into her neck, hiccuping softly, breathing deep with comfort.
ATong didn’t need anything else in that moment—just Mom’s arms, her scent, her heart close to his.
And Mom? She held him tight, swaying gently, knowing sometimes… even big drama came from a very small heart. 💞
