Spilled milk and sticky kisses❤️😘🤱🏻

It started with a sock. One inside-out, lonely sock, lying just inches away from the laundry basket. Ankita bent down, picked it up, and let out a quiet sigh—not loud enough to start a fight, but not quiet enough to hide. On the couch, Rohit looked up from his phone. “You okay?” he asked, without shifting his gaze much. “Yeah,” she said, brushing her hair back. “Just tired.” He nodded. “Okay.” That was it. But it wasn’t. The Crack Beneath the Quiet As she stood folding clothes later, a memory crept in. A weekend from last year. They were supposed to leave for a family gathering by 4 PM. She had packed the baby’s things, chosen her outfit, sorted his shirt, prepped snacks, and checked Google Maps for the route. Rohit had taken a long shower and scrolled through reels while getting ready, only to say at 3:50, “Why are you always so stressed? Just chill.” She remembered freezing that day—silent but burning. Not because he didn’t help, but because he didn’t see her. And now, staring at ano...

Mornings feel like marathons now. She wakes up before the sun, heart already racing, mind already full. The baby stirs beside her—again. She hasn’t slept more than an hour at a stretch. The night was stitched together with feeds and rocking in the dark. Still, the alarm rings, and she pulls herself up. There’s milk to express, bottles to prep, pump parts to clean, baby clothes to wash, prepare her bath table and somehow—she needs to be out the door by 8.30. The baby is still drowsy, clinging to her warmth. And yet she moves—gently, urgently—because she has a job to reach, deadlines to meet, and a body that’s split between being a mother and being everything else. On her way out, someone says, “ Try to get up early. Baby slept well, right?” She pauses. Smiles politely. But inside, something aches. Because no, the baby didn’t “sleep well.” Not by the old definition of sleep. There were feeds at 1 a.m., 3:45 a.m., and 5:10 a.m. There were moments she lay there, eyes closed, but ears open—...

In many homes, we admire children who are quiet, compliant, and never say no. “She never argues.” “He listens to everything we say.” “Such a well-behaved child.” We nod with pride, as if these are signs of success. But what if, behind that obedience, there’s a child who’s afraid to think for themselves. The Perfect Child Who Forgot How to Feel Imagine a little boy who always follows the rules. He eats what he's told, wears what he's given, and says only what is expected. He never complains. Never questions. Never challenges. Everyone calls him “easy.” A joy to raise. But years later, that same boy hesitates before making simple decisions. He looks around for approval. He second-guesses his feelings. Because all his life, he was trained to follow — never to think. Obedience was rewarded. Curiosity? Shut down. The Problem with Raising “Yes” Children When children are taught that their job is to obey, they learn something deeper than we intend. They learn that: Saying yes earns lo...