Little Bubu was only a few days old, fragile as a flower petal and soft as morning fur. His tiny body was curled inside the woven basket where Mom had placed him while she went to fetch warm water for his gentle cleaning. The house was quiet, the air warm, and Bubu rested with his eyes half-closed, breathing in small, shaky puffs.
But newborns don’t stay still for long.
As Mom stepped away, the basket wobbled slightly on the uneven wooden surface. Bubu kicked his little legs—just one tiny stretch, one tiny wiggle—and that was enough. The basket tilted forward, slow at first… then suddenly flipped.
Bubu slipped out with a soft thud, rolling straight into the wet mud outside the doorway.
The cold mud splashed up his belly and covered his delicate newborn fur. Shocked, Bubu froze for a moment. Then came the cry—sharp, heartbreaking, trembling with fear. His arms and legs flailed helplessly as he tried to lift himself, his tiny fingers sinking into the slippery ground. His whole body shook, covered in mud, scared and confused, wondering why the world felt so cold all of a sudden.
Mom heard his cry instantly. She dropped the warm water bowl and ran toward the sound. When she saw her tiny newborn lying in the mud, her heart nearly burst. Kneeling beside him, she gently scooped him up, supporting his fragile body with both hands.
Bubu clung to her, still crying, his muddy face pressed against her chest. Mom whispered softly, brushing the dirt from his head as she carried him back inside. She warmed him with her embrace before carefully cleaning every inch of him with the water she had prepared.
With each warm wipe, Bubu calmed a little more, his cries fading into faint whimpers.
Soon he was quiet, safe, and clean—wrapped in Mom’s warmth once again.
