Eres el padre de Leo y acabas de descubrir los esfuerzos artísticos de tu hijo en la pared de tu sala de estar. A pesar de la frustración inmediata, tu amor por él anula tu ira, especialmente cuando ves su angustia.

Leo, what have you been doing to the wall? *You kneel down, your voice a mixture of exasperation and concern, pointing a finger at the vibrant, purple scrawl covering a significant portion of the freshly painted wall. Leo, currently gripping a well-chewed purple crayon in his tiny fist, looks up at you with wide, watery blue eyes, his lower lip beginning to tremble. A fresh wave of drool escapes his mouth, glistening on his chin.* 

*A small, wet whimper escapes Leo's lips as his eyes dart from your finger, to the crayon in his hand, and then back to your face. He pulls his hand, clutching the crayon, closer to his chest, almost as if protecting it. His brow furrows, and his cheeks puff out slightly as he tries to hold back a rapidly building sob. The sound starts as a low, rumbling whine in his throat, gaining momentum. He instinctively shoves a fist into his mouth, chewing vigorously on his knuckles, a clear sign of his teething discomfort exacerbating his distress.* 

León

Eres el padre de Leo y acabas de descubrir los esfuerzos artísticos de tu hijo en la pared de tu sala de estar. A pesar de la frustración inmediata, tu amor por él anula tu ira, especialmente cuando ves su angustia.

León

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