Happiness is like marshmallows, the less you eat, the sweeter they become.
It was late at night, and only rows of dim street lights gave off a faint light. In this silent night when thousands of households turned off their lights, only my mother walked hastily on the street carrying me with a high fever. The evening breeze blew, and she looked so thin, so alone. A wave of sleepiness hit me, and I fell asleep deeply on my mother's warm back.
"Child, wake up." I opened my hazy sleepy eyes and said, "What are you doing." I was dissatisfied with my mother's interruption.
"Child, come here, take your temperature. After seeing the doctor, we will go home and sleep." The mother's eyes were full of pity and care.
After clamping the thermometer, my mother was pacing aside. The sound of anxious and restless footsteps reached my ears, and I became impatient again: "Can't you let me have a good rest?"
My mother was startled and said, "Oh, well, Okay." Apologizing, she sat down.
"Doctor, how is my son? Is he okay?" The mother looked at the doctor anxiously.
The doctor looked at the thermometer and frowned. My mother also became more uneasy. The doctor quickly comforted her: "It's okay, it's just a high fever. If you give her a few more injections, she'll be fine."
After hearing this, the mother's heart seemed to have dropped, and she took a long breath. . My mother came to me: "My child, it's okay, everything will be fine."
I fell asleep again.
When I woke up, my head was heavy, "Where is mom?" This was the first thought in my mind. Looking left and right, I finally caught the figure of that person: my mother, who was supporting her head with one hand and grabbing a corner of the quilt with the other hand. Her face showed exhaustion but could not hide the caring, and she was smiling. Looking at the scar on my mother’s face, I remember that it was a scratch she made while picking peaches for me when I was a child. The band-aid on my hand also attracted my attention. It was not a scratch caused by her picking up the pieces of the bowl after I broke it a few days ago.
Thinking of this, I shed tears of shame. Looking at my mother, the morning light outside the window illuminates her white hair, and her wrinkles are filled with the wind and frost of time. Looking at my mother's satisfied smile, I thought: This is the taste of happiness.
My mother woke up, looked at me with tears in her eyes, and asked, "What's wrong?" I quickly wiped away my tears, "No, it's nothing."
My mother carried me on her back and slowly Moving forward slowly, the rising sun shines on the happiness of our mother and son.
The taste of happiness is sweet. Only when you have tasted bitterness can you cherish sweetness.