A Tong sat on the mat with the new pacifier placed gently beside him. It was clean, bright, and carefully chosen by Mom, but the moment he saw it, his face changed. His brows tightened, his lips pushed forward, and a sharp cry burst out. He pushed the new pacifier away with a small but angry hand, shaking his head again and again.
Mom tried to encourage him, lifting the new pacifier and showing him how to use it. A Tong screamed louder. His anger wasn’t loud just for noise—it was full of meaning. He wanted his pacifier, the old one, soft and familiar, the one that smelled like comfort and sleep. He pointed toward the shelf, crying and calling Mom with urgency in his voice.
Mom sighed softly, feeling torn. She knelt down, explaining gently, hoping he would accept the change. But A Tong’s feelings grew bigger. He kicked his feet, arched his back, and cried in frustration. Change felt scary. The new pacifier felt wrong. Nothing about it felt safe.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked at Mom, eyes pleading. He wasn’t being stubborn on purpose. He was clinging to what made him feel secure. Mom held him close, rocking him while his cries slowly softened into sobs.
After a moment, Mom brought out the old pacifier. The instant A Tong saw it, his cries paused. He reached out eagerly, grabbed it, and put it in his mouth. His breathing slowed. His body relaxed. Peace returned as if the storm had never happened.
Mom smiled sadly, stroking his head. She understood now—comfort matters more than change, especially for a little heart still learning the world. A Tong leaned into her, calm and quiet, holding tightly to what he loved.
That small pacifier wasn’t just an object. It was reassurance. And for A Tong, feeling safe was everything.
