Little Titas squirmed restlessly on the blanket, his small body moving in strange, jerky motions driven by hunger. His stomach had been empty for too long, and patience no longer existed in his tiny world. The moment he smelled milk nearby, his head lifted sharply, mouth opening wide as he cried out in desperation.
His arms flailed, legs kicking unevenly as if his body couldn’t decide which way to move. Hunger made him restless and uncomfortable, twisting his posture into awkward shapes. Titas didn’t mean to look strange—his body was simply responding to need. Every sound he made was a demand, every movement a plea for that bottle to hurry.
Mom prepared the milk carefully, knowing rushing could be dangerous, but Titas didn’t understand waiting. He screamed louder, voice cracking, eyes searching frantically. His tiny hands shook as he tried to push himself up, failing and falling back again. The delay felt unbearable, like time itself had slowed just to torture him.
Mom spoke softly, asking him to wait, moving closer with the bottle almost ready. Titas saw it and cried even harder. His body arched, back stiff, mouth open wide, showing how badly he needed relief. Hunger had taken control, turning his small frame into pure urgency and instinct.
Finally, the bottle reached his lips. Instantly, everything changed. Titas latched on greedily, gulping fast, his frantic movements slowing with every swallow. His strange motions faded, replaced by steady drinking and deep breaths. The crying stopped, replaced by quiet sounds of relief. His body relaxed, curling naturally as warmth spread through him. In Mom’s arms, Titas drank until his strength returned. Hunger loosened its grip, and calm settled in. The waiting had been painful, but the milk brought comfort, balance, and safety back to his small body. Titas closed his eyes briefly, still drinking, knowing the worst part was over. He wasn’t forgotten. He was cared for. And the bottle always came—just in time.
