A Tong screamed the moment mom gently pulled the warm towel from his tiny body. The sound was loud, sharp, and full of anger. His eyes widened in shock, and his small hands reached out desperately, trying to grab the towel back. To him, the towel wasn’t just cloth. It was warmth, comfort, and safety.
His body trembled as cool air touched his skin. The sudden change made him furious and afraid at the same time. He kicked his legs, arched his back, and screamed again, louder than before. Tears rolled down his cheeks, mixing with his angry cries. A Tong didn’t understand why mom would take away something that made him feel so good.
Mom paused, her heart tightening. She knew he wasn’t being naughty. He was sensitive, still adjusting to his surroundings, and warmth meant security. She spoke softly, explaining with a calm voice even though he couldn’t understand the words. Her hands moved gently, quickly drying him and preparing fresh clothes.
A Tong continued to cry, his voice breaking between screams. He shook his head hard, protesting with all his strength. For a tiny body, the emotions were huge. Losing the towel felt like losing protection. He felt exposed and vulnerable.
The moment mom wrapped him in clean, dry clothes and pulled him close, everything changed. A Tong’s screams softened into sobs. He clung tightly to mom’s shirt, pressing his face into her chest. The warmth returned—not from the towel, but from her body.
His breathing slowly calmed. His hands relaxed. The anger faded, replaced by relief. Mom rocked him gently, rubbing his back in slow circles. She kissed his head softly, staying still so he wouldn’t feel another sudden change.
Within minutes, A Tong stopped crying. His eyes grew heavy, lashes wet with leftover tears. He stayed close, unwilling to let go. The world felt safe again.
That small moment showed something important. A Tong didn’t scream because he was spoiled. He screamed because warmth meant love to him. And when love returned, even without the towel, his heart finally rested.
