Baby PoPo sat quietly as Mom held his small hand, her touch careful and full of concern. His fingers were tiny, still learning the world, but a small wound had appeared, making Mom act quickly. She knew even little injuries needed proper care, especially for someone so young and fragile.
She prepared everything slowly so PoPo would not be frightened. The smell of Betadine filled the air as she dipped cotton gently into the brown liquid. The moment it touched his skin, PoPo flinched and let out a soft cry. His eyes squeezed shut, and his lips trembled. It stung, and he did not understand why.
Mom leaned closer, whispering soothing words, telling him she was there. Her voice stayed calm, steady, loving. She cleaned every part of the wound carefully, never rushing, never pressing too hard. PoPo whimpered again, his tiny hand shaking in hers, but he did not pull away completely. He trusted her.
After the Betadine, Mom turned on the tap. Warm, gentle water flowed softly, washing away dirt and medicine residue. The sound of water distracted PoPo for a moment. His crying slowed into uneven breaths. He watched the water with wide eyes, curiosity mixing with relief.
Mom dried his hand gently with a clean cloth, patting instead of rubbing. She kissed his fingers one by one, as if sealing the healing with love. PoPo’s face relaxed. The pain was gone. Only comfort remained.
She held him close afterward, letting his head rest against her chest. His breathing steadied. His hand curled naturally around her finger, warm and safe. The world no longer felt scary.
This simple moment was more than cleaning a wound. It was trust being built, lesson by lesson. PoPo learned that even when something hurts, Mom’s hands bring care, not harm.
And Mom, watching him calm and quiet again, knew that love often looks like patience, gentle medicine, warm water, and staying close until the tears stop.
