A Babá dos meus filhos

𝕮𝖆𝖕𝖎́𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖔 𝟭𝟵

- 𝙾 𝙹𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰́ 𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙳𝙾. - 𝚅𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚎́ 𝚕𝚊́.

- 𝙾 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚘 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚖? - 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚊́ 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎̂𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚑𝚘.

- 𝙴𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖 𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚛. 𝚅𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚛 𝚘 𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜.

- 𝙿𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚒𝚡𝚊𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚞 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊. - 𝙳𝚒𝚣 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝙳𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛.

- 𝚃𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚣𝚊?

- 𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚖! 𝙰𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎́ 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌̧𝚊̃𝚘.

- 𝙴𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒 𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝙳𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚗.

𝑨𝒏𝒚 𝑮𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒗

𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚘 𝙳𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝚈𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚘 𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚞 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘.

- 𝙻𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌̧𝚊. - 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘. - 𝙰 𝚈𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛. 𝙴𝚗𝚝𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚡𝚎. - 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚓𝚊 𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚘̂𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚊.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚖𝚎. - 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚡𝚘.

- 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊́ 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚘? - 𝙴𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘.

𝙾𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚕-𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎. 𝙴𝚕𝚎 𝚎́ 𝚜𝚘́ 𝚞𝚖 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚞 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘.

- 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎́ 𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊. - 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚊 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚊́𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚊𝚒𝚛.

- 𝙾𝚕𝚑𝚊, 𝚎𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚒 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚒 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊, 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚊. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚏𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘, 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚛?

- 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊, 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎́𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚛.

- 𝙾 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚎? - 𝙼𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘.

- 𝙾 𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊̃𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊́ 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘. - 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊. - 𝙴 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚎𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚖𝚊̃𝚎 𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊. 𝙴... 𝙴 𝚎𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚒 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚞 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚊𝚌̧𝚘̃𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊. 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛? 𝙹𝚊́ 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚡𝚎. 𝙰𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊, 𝚟𝚊𝚣𝚊! - 𝙳𝚒𝚣 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘.

𝙾́𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚘! 𝙾 𝚖𝚊𝚕-𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚞.

𝚁𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚜 𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚛.

- 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖, 𝚎𝚞 𝚜𝚘́ 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚛.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚊 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊. 𝙰𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘. - 𝙳𝚎𝚞𝚜, 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚊. 𝙼𝚎 𝚍𝚊́ 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚎̂𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊.

- 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚏𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘. 𝙴́ 𝚋𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚊.

- 𝚅𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚎́ 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊? - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚎? - 𝙴𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂. 𝚂𝚊𝚒 𝚍𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚒.

- 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚘, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛...

- 𝚅𝙰𝙸 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙰 𝙳𝙰𝚀𝚄𝙸! - 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊 𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚞𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌̧𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚒𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚘 𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊̃𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚑𝚘.

- 𝚃𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖! - 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊̃𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚌̧𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚘 𝙳𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘. - 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚛, 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛. - 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚛.

𝙽𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚊 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌̧𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊̃𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚎 𝚟𝚎̂-𝚕𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚒𝚡𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊̃𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘 𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚘 𝙳𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚘.

- 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊́ 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊́ 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚖!!! - 𝙰𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊.

Precisava tratar ela assim?