A mother’s love. A child’s love.

A few weeks ago, I brought Joshua out by myself on a weekday. At the train station, we shared the lift with a middle-aged lady and her aged mother.

It was saddening and yet heartwarming at the same time. Me, a young mother, with her young infant son in a stroller. And the middle-aged lady with her elderly mother in a wheelchair.

It’s like the circle of life. Encompassed within that elevator.

The old lady, seemingly not very conscious of herself, reached out and held on to the safety rails on the walls of the elevator. Her daughter told her in Hokkien, “Ah ma,mai dong.” (Translated: “Mom, don’t touch.”) And promptly removed her mother’s hand from the railing.

The old woman seems not to have heard her daughter, and raised her hand to perch upon the rail again.

Once again, the lady softly told her mother the same thing, and gently removed the hand on the rail.

Then it happened the third time again. (Yes, the elevators are exceedingly slow.)

Without fail, the lady reacted in the same gentle loving manner.

This repetitive action touched my heart in a place that had never been felt before. How patient this lady was with her aged mother, the willingness to wheel her mother out in a wheelchair when most of Singapore is still not 100% wheelchair-friendly.

Being the emo person I turned into post-birth, I almost shed tears right on the spot.

As I looked down at my baby, I knew I wished for nothing more from him, except that he may love me in the same way as I am loving him now.

For him to wheel me out, as I am doing to him now.
For him to remind me and keep me away from harm, as I do to him now.
For him to be patient and loving to me, as I am to him now.

For his love for me, be as strong and resilient in all situations, as I feel towards him now.

And that, my baby boy, is all Mommy asks of you.

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