Linda was usually a playful baby monkey, full of hops, squeaks, and funny little jumps. But today was different. Today, she sat beneath the tall tree, tiny hands clenched, tears hanging on her long eyelashes like dew. Mom gently tried to guide her toward the branches, hoping Linda would climb and enjoy the fresh air—but the little one refused. The moment her feet touched the rough bark, she cried loudly, heartbroken, trembling with frustration.
Mom stepped back for a moment, watching her baby throw herself into a full tantrum—tiny body wriggling, little feet kicking leaves into the air. Linda didn’t want the tree. She didn’t want independence today. She wanted warmth, arms, and familiar chest fur to hide in. She screamed louder, as though the whole jungle needed to know her feelings.
Birds above fluttered away at the sound. Even the breeze seemed to pause, waiting to see what mom would do next.
Mom returned with patience in her eyes. She crouched down slowly, not forcing anything. Linda sobbed harder, crawling into mom’s lap like a child who had been lost for years. She pressed her face into mom’s belly, clinging as though the world might disappear if she let go. Her little fingers dug into fur, desperate and needy.
Mom wrapped an arm around her, grooming the top of Linda’s head with gentle strokes. Slowly, the cries softened into sniffles, then quiet hiccups. Linda looked up at mom with wet eyes, as if asking, “Don’t make me climb today… just hold me.”
Mom didn’t push her again. Instead, she carried Linda close, rocking her back and forth while walking away from the tree. The tantrum faded, replaced by calm breathing and comfort she knew only in mom’s arms.
Some days, tiny hearts simply need love—not lessons.
