The scene unfolds in a quiet corner where the oldest mother sits with her tiny newborn baby. The little one has only one thought in mind—milk, and nothing else. Day and night, with endless energy, the baby keeps crawling, nudging, and pushing at the mother, demanding milk every few minutes. What begins as a sweet reminder of life’s innocence soon turns into a tiring routine for the mother, who feels her patience slowly slipping away.
The oldest mom sighs deeply. She has lived through many seasons, cared for others before, and knows well the struggles of raising young ones. But this little baby seems to have boundless determination. Whenever she tries to rest, the newborn pushes closer, stretching tiny hands, clinging tightly, and crying until milk is offered. The persistence would be admirable if it weren’t so exhausting.
Despite her fatigue, the mother cannot ignore the small cries. She gives milk again and again, even as her eyes grow heavy and her body aches. Sometimes she gently pushes the baby aside, hoping for a moment’s peace, but the newborn refuses to give up. In that stubbornness, the mother sees a reflection of her own younger self—the will to survive no matter what.
Though she feels bored and tired of the endless cycle, she knows this is part of the bond between them. Every cry is a call for comfort, every push is a request for love. The oldest mom may act frustrated, but in her heart she carries deep affection. Slowly, she accepts the truth: the baby needs her, and even in her weariness, she will always answer.
