Ronaldo cried hard, throwing his body backward and rolling on the floor, his little world collapsing into frustration. He wanted mom to pick him up now, not in a moment, not after a word. His cries were sharp and demanding, echoing off the floor as his arms reached up, then fell back in defeat. Tears soaked his cheeks while his feet kicked the air, anger and need tangled together.
He rolled again, back pressed to the floor, eyes squeezed shut, voice breaking as he called for mom. To him, being on the ground felt like being forgotten. Every second without her arms felt heavy and unfair. He cried louder, hoping the sound alone could lift him.
Mom watched closely, heart aching. She understood the feeling behind the behavior. This wasn’t just a tantrum. It was a plea for closeness. She knelt down to his level, speaking softly, telling him she saw him, that she was right there. Ronaldo heard her voice but couldn’t stop yet. His emotions were too big for his tiny body.
When mom opened her arms, Ronaldo rolled once more, then crawled forward and collapsed into her chest. The crying burst out again, then slowly softened. She lifted him, holding him firm, rocking gently. His body relaxed the moment his feet left the floor.
Ronaldo buried his face against her, breath hitching, fingers clutching her shirt. The storm drained out of him. Mom whispered reassurance, reminding him that asking is okay, that feelings are safe, that being picked up comes with calm.
Soon, only sniffles remained. Ronaldo rested quietly, tired but comforted. The floor no longer mattered. What mattered was that mom understood.
In her arms, Ronaldo learned something important. Big emotions don’t push love away. They bring understanding closer. And sometimes, all a little heart needs is to be lifted, held, and reminded that it is never alone.
