I'm not sure what caused the sad eyes, the drooping head, or the knuckles dragging on the floor, That's what "I'm hurt" looks like among the younger set of our home. I'm sure I didn't teach them to do that, but even their oldest brothers hunched their backs, hung their heads, leaden arms hanging limply from the shoulders, slowly slinking away when they felt bad. It's pretty pathetic looking, and it certainly tugs at my mother-heart.
I was working at the counter, trying to do some paperwork, when this little one of mine moped around the corner. His eyes on the floor, his feel shuffled along. I'm not sure how he didn't walk into anything, but he wouldn't have hurt himself even if he had. He came and stood beside me for a minute, then reluctantly lifted his head to show me his tear-stained face. He lifted his arms and quietly pleaded, "Hold me, Mommy." What else could I do? I lifted him into my arms and held him, heart to heart, for a long, long time. I only released my embrace when he felt better and wiggled to get down. "I'm ok now," he said, miraculously cured, and raced off to play.
And I have a record that I was a comforting mother with cozy arms. It's a lot of what I do.