Nasty Minea screamed sharply, her tiny voice cutting through the room like a blade of frustration. She lay in her small nest, fists clenched, face red with impatience. Across the room, her mom was carefully mixing the milk, shaking the bottle slowly to make sure it was just right. But to Minea, every second felt like forever.
Her hunger burned, and hunger made her emotions explode.
She cried again, louder this time, turning her head side to side as if searching for her mom’s arms. The sound was sharp, demanding, filled with anger and need. Minea did not understand patience. She only knew that her stomach was empty and her mom was not moving fast enough. In her world, love meant immediate comfort.
Mom glanced over, heart aching. She wanted to rush, but she knew the milk had to be safe. Too hot would hurt. Too cold would upset her baby more. So she kept mixing, whispering soft reassurances that Minea could not yet understand.
Minea’s screams grew stronger. Her legs kicked wildly, and her tiny chest rose and fell quickly. Tears spilled down her cheeks, not just from hunger, but from fear that she was being ignored. To her, the delay felt like rejection.
Finally, the bottle was ready.
Mom hurried over, lifting Minea into her arms. The moment the nipple touched her lips, the screaming stopped. Minea latched on desperately, drinking fast, breathing unevenly, her anger slowly melting away. Her body relaxed, fists opening, cries turning into soft swallowing sounds.
Mom held her close, gently stroking her back. She felt Minea’s heartbeat slow, felt the tension leave her tiny body. What moments ago had been fury was now peace.
Soon, Minea’s eyes grew heavy. Milk dribbled slightly from her mouth as she drank slower, safer, calmer. Her screams were forgotten, replaced by trust.
In that quiet moment, mom smiled sadly. She knew this truth well: babies scream not because they are bad, but because they need. And when love arrives, even late by seconds, it heals everything.
