Chichi was already in a bad mood before Mom even reached for her clothes. The moment the fabric appeared, her face tightened, and her body stiffened with sudden anger. She hated being rushed, hated the feeling of change, and today her patience was gone. As Mom prepared the clothes, Chichi let out a sharp cry, loud and demanding.
Mom tried to move slowly, choosing soft clothes and speaking gently. But Chichi’s mood exploded fast. She slapped the air, kicked her tiny feet, and twisted her body away. Her anger rose like fire, sudden and uncontrollable. Dressing felt like a fight she didn’t want to lose. Her cries echoed with frustration she couldn’t explain.
When Mom lifted one sleeve, Chichi screamed harder, shaking her head fiercely. Tears formed instantly, rolling down her cheeks as she fought every touch. Mom paused, holding the clothes aside, watching carefully. She knew Chichi wasn’t being naughty—she was overwhelmed. Her small heart couldn’t slow down as quickly as Mom needed.
Mom sat down beside her instead of forcing. She placed the clothes nearby and waited. Chichi continued crying, but the anger slowly lost strength. Her screams softened into shaky sobs. She glanced at the clothes, then at Mom’s calm face. The storm inside her began to fade, replaced by tired confusion.
Finally, Chichi crawled closer, still moody but quieter. Mom gently dressed her piece by piece, giving breaks between each step. Chichi allowed it, leaning against Mom’s chest, breathing unevenly but calmer. When it was done, she rested her head on Mom’s shoulder, exhausted. The fast anger had passed. Mom hugged her tightly, knowing that love—not force—was what truly dressed Chichi that day. Chichi learned she was safe, even when her moods came fast and fierce. And Mom learned patience again, one breath at a time.
