Alex was just a few weeks old when Daria first noticed a habit that seemed unusual for a newborn.

It started one afternoon when the light in the bedroom was warm and golden.

After finishing a feeding, she laid Alex gently on the bed. Almost immediately, he curled up tightly, tucking his knees under his chest, his arms beneath him, and pressed his face into the mattress.

At first, it seemed like a typical newborn quirk—a tiny form of self-soothing—but over time, it became a pattern that concerned her.

Daria recorded a video and showed it to her husband, Simon, joking that their son was “playing hide-and-seek.”

But when she watched the footage later that night, her smile faded. In the video, Alex didn’t move for forty minutes—not a wiggle, stretch, or reflexive startle.

Unlike most babies, who react to light, sound, and touch, he remained still, face buried in the sheets.

“Simon,” she called, trying not to sound alarmed. He came into the room, tousled hair and coffee in hand. She held out her phone.

After watching, he shrugged. “He’s just comfortable, Dar. Some babies sleep funny.” She wanted to believe him. But the sense of unease lingered.

The small signs grew. Every morning, she laid Alex on the crib mattress after changing him or dressing him.

Without hesitation, he would curl into himself and press his face into the sheets. Even when held against her chest, he burrowed into her clothing.

Unlike other babies, he never looked at her face, never studied her lips or eyes. His gaze wandered past her, unfocused, as if the world existed somewhere she couldn’t reach.

One afternoon, Daria asked Simon, “When he looks at you, does he ever react? Smile, track your face?”

Simon said he was still very young, but Daria’s concern deepened. She noticed other unusual behaviors:

Alex startled at new sensations like sunlight but not at sounds, and his tiny body stiffened in response to overstimulation.

Nights were sleepless, as she watched his chest rise and fall, worried he might not be breathing fully.

Her concern reached a breaking point one morning during a trip to the park.

The air was filled with laughter, children playing, birds chirping, and the soft hum of life. She laid Alex on a blanket on the grass.

Unlike other babies who engage with the environment, Alex immediately tensed, curled into himself, and pressed his face into the blanket.

The joyful sounds around them seemed too loud, too bright. Daria realized he was retreating from the world, hiding in silence.

That night, Daria decided to call the doctor. “My baby… he keeps hiding his face. He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t smile. He just disappears,” she said over the phone.

The nurse advised bringing Alex in the next morning for an examination.

When they arrived at the clinic, the pediatrician, Dr. Leeman, conducted a thorough evaluation.

She tested muscle tone, reflexes, neck strength, and eye movement. Using a small rattle, she checked Alex’s response to sound.

Each time, he failed to react. “We need to check his hearing,” Dr. Leeman said gently.

“If a child cannot hear, they often withdraw, because they cannot interpret the world around them.”

Later that day, tests confirmed the diagnosis: bilateral severe sensorineural hearing loss. For Daria, the news was both shocking and clarifying.

Dr. Leeman explained that early intervention was critical. With hearing aids, and later possibly cochlear implants, Alex could develop listening and speech skills.

Exposure to sound in the coming months would be vital for his brain development.

The first week with hearing aids was challenging. Alex startled at everyday sounds—the hum of the refrigerator, wind outside, even Daria’s voice.

It was overwhelming for both mother and son. But Daria remained patient, speaking softly, singing, and repeatedly exposing him to gentle sounds. Gradually, he began to respond.

About a month later, a breakthrough came. One morning, sunlight streaming through the window, Daria greeted him, “Hello, Alex.”

This time, he turned his head toward her voice, eyes wide and alert. And then he smiled—a small, tentative smile that marked his first real connection to the world through sound.

From that day on, Alex no longer retreated into silence.

His first recognized voice was his mother’s, and through patience, care, and consistent exposure to sound, he began to engage with the world around him.

Daria realized that early intervention, awareness, and persistence had given her son the ability to experience life fully, connecting with people and sounds for the very first time.

This story is a testament to the importance of attentive parenting, early detection of hearing issues, and the transformative impact of intervention and love in the lives of children with hearing loss.