She would not get up this time. He will have to manage himself. He should realise that she will not run to him, everytime such a situation arose. She stay stuck in her seat.
Was he hurt? She resisted the urge to check on him. She strained her ears for any noises - weeping or moaning from him. There was none. That meant he had not got hurt. He was probably standing there looking in her direction, waiting for her to pick him up. She would not take her eyes off the book she was reading. He had to learn, didn't he?
Her son. Of two years, almost. Fell plop on the ground, out of his cradle. He toppled out of his cradle quite often. She had been extra careful to put him in a clean place, and his cradle close enough to the ground, so he won't be bruised everytime he did this. That wouldn't do. It was time he learnt how to get back in. She had been there to lift him up and put him back all these days. But she would not always be there beside him.
She risked a glance in his direction, out of the corner of her eyes. She was the mother. And she was right. He stood there looking at her.
'Mmmm' he made a noise. He'd seen his mother look at him. He wanted her to carry him in her arms. She wanted to carry him in her arms.
She wanted to wrap arms around him and shower him with kisses. But she wouldn't. She decided not to. She held the book close to her face, the one which held an expression that combined smugness and a yearning to run to him.
He was her son, her only son. Should she go to his rescue whenever he gets into trouble; or should she let him handle it on his own? She'll be facing this dilemma, all her life, all his life. For now, it was his own problem. He was old enough to do it.
Was he hurt? She resisted the urge to check on him. She strained her ears for any noises - weeping or moaning from him. There was none. That meant he had not got hurt. He was probably standing there looking in her direction, waiting for her to pick him up. She would not take her eyes off the book she was reading. He had to learn, didn't he?
Her son. Of two years, almost. Fell plop on the ground, out of his cradle. He toppled out of his cradle quite often. She had been extra careful to put him in a clean place, and his cradle close enough to the ground, so he won't be bruised everytime he did this. That wouldn't do. It was time he learnt how to get back in. She had been there to lift him up and put him back all these days. But she would not always be there beside him.
She risked a glance in his direction, out of the corner of her eyes. She was the mother. And she was right. He stood there looking at her.
'Mmmm' he made a noise. He'd seen his mother look at him. He wanted her to carry him in her arms. She wanted to carry him in her arms.
She wanted to wrap arms around him and shower him with kisses. But she wouldn't. She decided not to. She held the book close to her face, the one which held an expression that combined smugness and a yearning to run to him.
He was her son, her only son. Should she go to his rescue whenever he gets into trouble; or should she let him handle it on his own? She'll be facing this dilemma, all her life, all his life. For now, it was his own problem. He was old enough to do it.