I am 28 years old, and yesterday was a trial that opened my eyes to many things I did not realise about myself and my family.
I returned from work around six in the evening, tired as usual, but hoping for a quiet evening at home. But as soon as I stepped into the garage, I sensed that something was wrong. Aiden, our son, just three weeks old, was crying loudly. It wasn’t the usual cry of hunger or tiredness. It was a cry full of pain and fear that pierced my heart. I froze, not knowing what to do.
‘Claire?’ I called, rushing into the house with my bag and laptop, which I threw on the console by the front door.
She was sitting in the kitchen, her face hidden in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. When she looked up, I saw a mixture of helplessness and panic in her eyes. Only two words escaped her lips:
‘Oh my God…’
‘How long has he been crying like that?’ I asked, trying to sound calm, but there was still a note of alarm in my voice.
‘All… day,’ she whispered. ‘I fed him, changed him, bathed him, carried him in my arms, pushed him in his pram. All to no avail!’
I walked over to her, took her hand and squeezed it gently to show my support. Everything inside me tightened with anxiety.
‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s figure this out together.’
We went into the nursery. The cot was against the far wall. I approached Aiden, who was still crying, and decided to try to calm him down.
‘Hi, baby,’ I said quietly, trying to sound calm, even though my emotions were raging inside me. ‘Maybe Daddy can help you?’
The sun’s rays penetrated through the blinds and illuminated the room. I approached and closed the blinds to create shade. However, this had no effect on Aiden. He continued to cry, as if he did not notice me.
I began to sing him a song, tickled his fingers, and played peek-a-boo. I tried everything I could. Then, to check if everything was okay, I took his temperature. It was normal.
But something was wrong. That cry… it wasn’t just a tantrum. It wasn’t the kind of crying I had encountered before. I sensed that something was subtly wrong.
I carefully lifted the edge of the mattress in the cot to see if that was the problem. And then I froze.
My heart skipped a beat.
There, underneath the mattress, I saw a small toy — a soft teddy bear that seemed to have accidentally ended up out of place. But in reality, it wasn’t just a toy. It was something more.
I pulled it out from under the cot and saw that there was a small cut in its face. I immediately realised that Aiden wasn’t crying because of pain, but because his teddy bear was missing. It was his favourite toy, which we had forgotten when getting ready for bed.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ I exclaimed when I realised that Aiden had been crying all this time not because of pain or hunger, but because he was afraid that his favourite toy had disappeared.
I looked at Claire, who was standing in the doorway watching what was happening. Her face showed relief when I finally understood what was really going on.
‘It’s… it’s just a toy,’ I said, showing her the teddy bear. ‘He’s crying because of it. It’s his favourite toy!’
Claire looked at me in surprise, then her face softened. She came over to me, sat down next to me and picked up Aiden.
‘He can’t sleep without it,’ she said quietly, stroking his head. ‘I just didn’t notice.’
Aiden instantly calmed down, hugging the teddy bear, and his little hands began to fall asleep, pressing the toy close to him. Claire and I sat next to him, watching our son find peace again.
At that moment, I realised that our life wasn’t as complicated as we thought. We worried about many things that seemed like huge problems, but in reality, they were just small moments. We forgot the toy, but Aiden reminded us how important these little things are.
The next morning, when I woke up, I saw Claire sitting next to Aiden, who was sleeping peacefully in his cot, hugging his teddy bear. I walked over and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.
‘We’ll get through this,’ I said quietly. ‘Everything will be fine.’
She smiled, and I realised that despite all the difficulties, all the moments of anxiety and uncertainty, we had each other. We had our son, and our family was what made us strong. That was what really mattered.
That evening, sitting at the table with Claire, we discussed how we would cope with the difficulties. We didn’t know what the future would bring, but we knew one thing for sure: we would be together. And that was the most important thing.
That evening, sitting at the table with Claire, we discussed how we would cope with the difficulties. We didn’t know what the future would bring, but we knew one thing for sure: we would be together. And that was the most important thing.
Aiden woke up and looked at us, smiling. There was no fear or anxiety in his eyes, only pure, sincere happiness.
‘Hello, little one,’ I said, picking him up.
He looked at me, hugged his teddy bear tightly and said quietly:
‘Daddy, I love you.’
And at that moment, I realised that there was nothing to be afraid of. We were together, and that was enough.
