Summer. Pension. Dining room. A familiar picture of a Black Sea holiday. Overcooked vacationers are enjoying the delights of a custom-made menu. Opposite me, at the next table, a mother is feeding her five- to six-year-old baby. The facial expression is responsible, not tolerating objections, the words are appropriate: “Open your mouth! Chew, I tell you!” “With one hand she scoops up a spoonful of porridge and stuffs it into the boy’s mouth. With her other hand she “holds” his neck. Either so that the porridge does not spill, or so that the boy cannot escape. Oh horror, I think, even an adult cannot swallow so much at once, and here is a baby... And this grip on the neck... It looks ominous. The poor child chews, chokes, swallows. Unhappy. This is what her motherly love looks like. I turn my gaze to other tables. And again the picture! It can’t be, I think! Maybe the law of paired cases...Three tables to the right, a plump woman sits opposite a girl of about eleven. Apparently, mom, because they are so similar physiognomically, and they are both plump. In my medical opinion, I assume second-degree obesity in both. And here the picture is almost repeated. Only there is no death grip on the neck, less heat, less resistance... The girl is already an adult, she has resigned herself, adapted and even loves to overeat... But the rest is the same: the mother feeds from a spoon, the girl opens her mouth (this is in adolescence - then age). This is what her mother’s love looks like. What is it: lack of basic knowledge, the call of nature or banal greed? After all, love can be different, less traumatic. But I think these mothers will not hear me. It’s sad... I don’t want porridge anymore ...Screw it, this is an a la carte menu...