Mom tried her best to be gentle that morning. She sat close on the mat, holding a small spoon filled with fruity yogurt, smiling softly at baby Chamroeun. The smell was sweet, the texture smooth, made just for him. But Chamroeun was not in the mood. His tiny brows tightened, lips pushed forward, and before the spoon touched his mouth, he cried out angrily.
He turned his head away, waving his little hands, kicking the rug in frustration. Mom paused, surprised but calm. She whispered his name, lifting the spoon again with patience. Chamroeun screamed louder, tears forming fast, his body stiff with stubborn anger. He was hungry, yet refused the help he needed.
Mom’s heart ached. She remembered how small and fragile he was, how easily emotions overwhelmed him. She didn’t force the spoon. Instead, she wiped his tears gently and waited. Chamroeun cried harder, face red, chest shaking, caught between hunger and pride.
Slowly, Mom dipped the spoon again, this time letting Chamroeun see, smell, and touch it. Yogurt dripped onto his finger. He paused. His cries softened into confused whimpers. He licked his finger by accident, then froze. The taste surprised him.
Mom smiled, still quiet, still patient. She offered the spoon once more, closer but not pressing. Chamroeun hesitated, sniffed, then opened his mouth just a little. One tiny bite entered. His eyes widened. The anger melted into silence.
He swallowed, breathing calmer now. Mom fed him slowly, spoon by spoon, as his body relaxed against her. Chamroeun leaned closer, resting his head on her arm, exhaustion replacing rage.
That moment taught them both something important. Love is not loud. Care is not rushed. Even the angriest heart can soften when patience leads the way. And in Mom’s gentle hands, Chamroeun found comfort, trust, and warmth.
